Ginger Rats Me Out

I am still without a computer, which has become more than a mere nuisance. Frankly, I’m borderline homicidal at this point.

The good news is that GrumpyDaddy, our resident computer expert and all-around tech-savvy guy, has found what he thinks will be an appropriate computer for my needs, which basically consist of internet silliness and shenanigans (to wit, this blog).

The first computer he tried to sell me on had all the bells and whistles and did everything but launch nuclear weapons and tie your shoes. Sounds like fun, but the pricetag sent my head spinning. We’ve now settled upon something that is half the price but will serve the same purpose and – bonus! – be faster than my old computer, which apparently got bogged down with too much crap that I downloaded from the internet. What can I say, I’m a sucker for all of those embarrassing videos of celebrities tripping as they walk down the street or getting into bar fights.

So hopefully posting will become more regular in the near future. Until then, I must report that my loving daughter has ratted me out to GrumpyDaddy twice now.

The first time was of little consquence. Fred knocked over an upright planter and sent a plant skidding across the floor. Not fun to clean up, but not a big deal and I had forgotten all about it until dinner time, when Ginger announced to the world that Fred had done this. It was the first time that she had done anything like this, and I made a mental note that I could no longer trust her toddler brain to forget everything I did only seconds after it happened.

Not that I’m keeping any big secrets, but, you know, sometimes things happen during the day that don’t necessarily need to be shared. Such as, and this is a PURE hypothetical that has ZERO relation to reality, when your child gets into decongestant medication, spills it everywhere, and just possibly licks a bit off her fingertips. Not that this ever happened in my house at all. Ever. It’s just an example. I can’t imagine the irresponsible mother that would let this happen.

Anyhoo, the second ratting out involved a true, if indirect, ratting out. We were driving home from errands yesterday, with GrumpyDaddy behind the wheel. As we crawled through our neighborhood, Ginger says, “Why are you driving so slow, Daddy?”

Crap.

GrumpyDaddy turns to me and says, “And just how fast do you drive through the neighborhood?”

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