The weather is pissy and raw, and New York is now in its second week without sunshine. We are addled with what seems like Seasonal Affective Disorder, that awful malaise that makes Scandinavians such dour company. Herewith, then, three vignettes culled from days of indoor confinement.
Scene One: The bathroom
Robert and TwoBert are in the bathtub splashing about before bedtime. TwoBert is kicking like an Evinrude and Robert, insisting on helping out with the bathing, reaches over to wash TwoBert's penis for about the 10th time.
Daddy: Robert, please do not play with your brother's penis. You wouldn't want someone constantly playing with your penis, would you?
Robert: Of course I would!
* * *
Scene Two: The playdate
In view of the terrible weather, a friend has invited Robert and three other cabin-feverish preschoolers over. Manic due to a lack of sunshine, the kids ransack their host's toy kitchen. Robert's friend Perry takes a bowl and places it on his head.
Perry: Look! I'm a bowlhead!
Robert [mimicking with a small saucepan]: I'm a pothead!
* * *
Scene Three: The restaurant
Team LOD heads out for dinner at our favorite Japanese place, where the early hour and pouring rain have suppressed the crowds. We seat ourselves at our favorite four-top, and when I detach my chopsticks from each other I grant the assembled a little drumming on the water glasses. (Because that's what I do. I am a dork.) TwoBert's eyes burst wide, and he starts arching his back and grunting that fragile grunt of dispair. I hand him a chopstick, and he elatedly begins banging somewhat rhythmically on his other forearm. Some day, when TwoBert's band goes multi-platinum, the world will find out he riffed his first drum solo while waiting for the edamame.
