The Magic of Mothers
“Mom! I can’t find my hat!”
The call echoes down the stairs of the home where Pete hasn’t been able to find his hat since it was a Jays cap.
“On your closet!”
There’s a pause.
“It’s not there! Can you just come up?” and when I don’t teleport, “We’re going to be late.”
I climb the stairs I once carried him up.
I pull down the hat box, and open it with a flourish.
“In a box!” he says, like I hid it. In the box labelled Pete’s Hat.
“God help Maggie, sons can pull this crap, but husbands?”
Extro
Why is it men can look and not see? I vaguely remember there’s some scientific thing about men looking for a specific shape, so they can’t see the ketchup if it’s on its side, for example, but aren’t these the same men who are supposed to outshine us in spatial perception? Anyway, I digress. My story is just a bit of fun this week, because it’s been a week and I could use the lightness, couldn’t you?
elmowrites 