Weekly Routine

Spills said to me tonight, "I have so many things, I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm grown up."

"Maybe you can do a few of them," I said.

"I'm going to have a weekly routine."

"Really?"

"On the weekend, I'm going to rest."

"Sure, of course."

"On Monday, I'm going to be a waiter. On Tuesday, I'll be an author. On Wednesday, I'm going to help out at the zoo."

"Cool."

"On Thursday I'll get ready, because on Friday I'm going to serve you food."

"You're going to serve me food?"

"You and Daddy will come over on Friday, and you'll have grey hair, and I'll serve you food."

"Nice."

"But you'll have to live nearby. Maybe next door. Or maybe in the basement."

"In this basement?"

"Yes."

"Will we finish it first? Because it's kind of dark and yucky down there."

Hands on hips. Severely: "MOM."

The conversation was ended here, so I don't yet know exactly where Spills plans to put me when I'm old and grey. As long as she feeds me, though, I guess I'll be fine.