It was a quiet evening dinner of hamburgers (and a hot dog for Sigourney).
“Sigourney,” Flathead asked at a break in family banter, “do you want to tell Mommy why you’re not wearing a shirt?”
I had noticed the lack of clothing, but she’s three. Being shirtless is being Sigourney.
“Well,” Sigourney said, “my pet beetle went up my arm.”
I put down my burger (pineapple, cheddar cheese, teriyaki sauce) because I couldn’t keep eating. “Your pet what?”
“My pet beetle. He walked up my sleeve so I had to take my shirt off.”
“He’s over there in the jar.”
“That one. Right behind you.”
I was basically eating dinner in close company with a creepy black crawly thing that had once been up Sigourney’s shirt.
A second later I recovered and ate the rest of my bonsai burger. Because it was that good. And because I was going to have to learn to live with a bug lover.