Don’t I Move?
Last night the boys called me into the living to observe a moth hanging out on the curtain near a lamp.
“Kill him! Kill him!” the mob shouted eagerly.
Mommy held the tissue poised, but the thought of the loud crunch and the feeling of the body cracking through the tissue gave her pause.
“Daddy would probably do it better than Mommy; Daddy is faster than Mommy.”
Jaeger looked concerned, put his hand on his head and inquired, “Not my head, Mommy?”
“No, Jaeger, he won’t fly on your head. Moths like the light; I’m sure he’ll just stay there until Daddy comes up. He won’t move.”
“Oh,” he pondered this information, “like Mommy?”
