So I told my kids that once we move we’d get chickens. Three to be exact.
We’ve all agreed their names would be Omelet, Scrambles, and Chicken.
Today, however…
My son: Can I get a rooster?
Me: Why?
My son: So I can put a monocle on him and name him Sir Reginald.
(Note: My son is 17-years-old.)
Me: (laughing) What?
My son: No, really. How funny would that be? I’d put a monocle on him, and he’d be strutting around the yard all fancy-like. He’d fight it at first, but then he’d go along with it.
Me: (still laughing) How would you get the monocle to stay?
My son: Oh, I don’t know. Glue or something. Just the monocle. A top hat would be too much.
Me: (laughing with tears in my eyes thinking about a rooster wearing a monocle and strutting around our yard) No. You cannot have a rooster.
My son: Aw, c’mon. Then when I’m calling him I could use a British accent and call him in a fancy way.
Me: No.
My son: Please?
Me: (wiping the tears from my eyes) No.
Note: Before anyone is appalled and calls us animal abusers, we are animal lovers in this household. We just have a weird sense of humor. If you feel offended or don’t like it, then this may not be the blog for you.
A Mélange of Contradictory Tendencies 