Robert
is pathologically averse to having his nails clipped. I suppose I’d understand
if he had suffered some sort of toe trauma, but thanks to my superior surgical
skill (honed by years of playing Operation), our little clipper has never drawn
blood. My theory is that he resents the temporary immobilization as an affront
to his inalienable civil liberties.
We’re
also at the point where we tend to S-P-E-L-L everything, whether we N-E-E-D to
or not, because the path of least resistance is to shield him from anything
that could be construed even remotely as bad N-E-W-S.
Me: “After he’s finished with his dinner, I’m going to C-L-I-P his N-A-I-L-S.”
My wife: “G-O-O-D.”
Robert: “And then I’m gonna E-R-P-I-V!”
