Hello, this is Wilder. I have taken hostage of this blog. Please do not try to help these people who refer to themselves as my "parents." If you try to rescue them, I will surely exact my revenge in the form of raging stinky diapers and thrice-nightly waking sessions. I may be 3 months old, but I can be hell-on-wheels if you force my hand.
Anyway, my demands are simple:
1. I want my bottle prepared BEFORE I have to start hollerin' bloody murder for it. Is it THAT hard to figure out when I'm getting hungry? Are you people really not paying attention? What do you think you have, a life or something?
2. Get that stinky dog out of my face. It's bad enough he wants to lick my chin ... his breath is unholy and if I have to breath it one more time, I might keel over.
3. While we're on the subject of these furballs you call your "pets," tell the freakin' cat that those things hanging from my play gym are MY TOYS. Not his. Keep his claws away from them or I will pull his tail. Repeatedly. Until I'm 12.
4. I like a clean diaper. I repeat: I. LIKE. A. CLEAN. DIAPER.
5. When the unfortunate occurrence comes about that I am tired, I would like for you large monkeys to concurrently rub my head, hold my pacifier in, coo to me in a soothing voice and just generally make sure I'm comfortable until I fall into a deep sleep. This might take an hour and a half. Just deal, OK? If I awake 5 minutes after you leave the room, come back and do it all over again.
6. I barely know you and yet you keep kissing my face and telling me you love me. You also hug me tightly. Really, do we know each other well enough for all that? If you love me so much, why can't you pick me up within a millisecond of when I start crying. You need to work harder.
7. Finally -- and really, this is a small thing -- buy me some socks that fit. I have big feet for my age and those puny things you keep puttin' on my dogs are for two-month-olds. You're embarrassing me.
Signed,
The Eternally Disgruntled Wilder
ps. I'll throw you guys a bone: You're both funny-looking, and that entertains me at least.
2 comments:
That had me laughing so hard I could barely read it outloud to Dan! I also enjoyed the things you learned from Wilder... You write good. I teared up too ; )
As for the socks, we feel your pain, as we have no ankles and our feet are grossly out of proportion to our mere 29 inch height. We are planning to take out the mighty sock oppressors with vast amounts of dirty diapers and formula bombs placed in discreet areas. Finally they will feel our wrath and weave with more sense in mind. Pshaw, 12 to 24 months, who are they fooling!!
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