Shark attack

During our last trip to Texas, we did a fair amount of shopping. In one of these stores, I took the kids (who were getting pretty grumbly about it) while June did the actual shopping. We ended up in a toy aisle, of course, where the boys found a bucket of toy soldiers they Really Wanted.

“I’ll loan you the money,” I said. “If you want it, I’ll get it for you and you can pay me back later.”

They considered this for a while, talking about different things they could buy, and if they wanted it, and if they’d both buy it. Finally, my oldest said “Yes! I want it.”

I asked “Are you both going to buy it?”

“No,” his little brother said. “Not me.”

We bought the bucket. The proud new owner opened it in the car, and then played with it there and back at the house where we were staying. He even let his brother play with him.

All in all, it seemed like it worked out great for everyone.

Then our friend Miss Gayle came to visit. After chatting with my youngest son upstairs, she came down and waved me over.

It turns out that my youngest’s decision to not buy the soldiers wasn’t quite so innocent. “He said that he didn’t buy the soldiers because he knew his brother wouldn’t play with them by himself. ¬†Why pay when he didn’t have to?”


I wonder if this is what a daddy shark feels like when his son first flashes his teeth.

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