The Scourge of the Red Ham
I was changing the sheets on my son’s bed when I found this little guy hanging onto the bed rail for dear life.
Just like that, little pleading eyes looking up at me. He’d fallen down behind the headboard, under the pillows, and God only knows how long he’d been there, clutching on to any last hope of being saved.
I rescued him and could feel his gratitude. I thought, oh no, your stuffed animal friends tried to save you but they couldn’t! And now I have! Happy day!
Then I thought, maybe he’s the evil one and they pushed him down there to begin with. He is a little devil-ish looking. He’d been clawing his way back to take Tarantino-style revenge. Stuffing everywhere. The others thought they were safe from the scourge of the red ham, but now he was back and I’d destroyed their lives.
This line of thinking explains why I’m better off as a child care provider than, say, an office worker.
Just to be sure, I’ve kept him separate from the others for a few days. I’ll have to check with them before I bring him back to the bed.