“I can’t find Rudy!” Lucy whined.
“Where’d you leave him?” I asked, barely paying attention.
“Well is he there?”
“Then you didn’t leave him there, Luce.”
“Go look for Rudy, hon. Your Dad’s busy.”
Lucy sulked out of the room. I wondered if it’d be a “good dad” thing to help her look, but I figured at some point the kid would have to learn not to leave her things laying around. Self reliance and all that. Like Thoreau talked about, but with more indoor plumbing.
“Found him!” Lucy shrieked from somewhere upstairs.
“Atta girl,” I called back. “Now c’mon down and finish Moana, then we’ll have some dinner.
“I don’t like Moana!” Lucy pouted. “She’s boring.”
“How do you know that if you’ve only seen the first twenty minutes?”
“I just do.”
Lucy stomped down the stairs with Rudy under her arm. I glanced at him. He definitely needed to go through the washing machine. Lucy’s a sleep drooler, just like her mom was. In the time Lucy’d had him, he’d built up quite a rind.
“I think it’s time Rudy gets a bath, Luce.”
She held him at arm’s length, studying him.
“No,” she declared. “He’s fine.”
“Bring him over and let me sniff.”
Lucy rolled her eyes and walked over. I still didn’t know where she learned that. I figured she’d be at least twelve before the eye-rolling phase. Lucky me.
I took Rudy and put him under my nose. He reeked.
“Yeah, no, sorry hon, he’s going in the washing machine. C’mon, let’s go downstairs.”
Lucy’s face darkened.Continue reading “Lucy and the Basement”