Have you ever seen one of those competitive cup-stackers, the ones who stack and unstack plastic cups on late-night TV shows? They do so with blazing speed, the cups appearing to move in a neon blur.
Well, those cup-stackers have nothing on Willow.
No, Willow doesn't stack things. Actually, she doesn't even construct things.
Her specialty is destructing, and she does so with blinding speed.
There used to be a cartoon on a few years back named "The Tick." On it, there was a speed greater than the speed of light. It was the speed of lint. Nothing was faster. As in: "Where did that lint come from?" "I don't know, it's just there, out of nowhere. It moves at the speed of lint."
Willow moves faster.
This morning, for example, as I finished breakfast, I heard, "Whap! Whap! Whap!" Willow had gone from playing peacefully in the floor with her cereal bowl to pulling magazines off an end table in record time. The "whaps" were the magazines hitting the floor. Then came a tissue box. Then a picture frame.
Later, as I loaded clothes into the washer, she pulled them out just as quickly. After I finally fought her off and started the washer, she moved to the pile of darks and started disassembling it.
Then as I fed her breakfast, I was left wondering, "How did she get 'Apples & Cherries' in her hair?" and "How did she get 'Apples & Cherries' in my hair?"
The girl is fast. Faster than the speed of lint.
But I fear she'll get faster.
While at the zoo last month, I spotted a man chasing after his toddler son on several occasions, at the picnic tables, at the giraffe's exhibit and at the tumble gym. The last time I spotted the pair, the man was dashing, in socked feet, toward the gift shop. I named him "The Running Man."
Do you think that will happen to me?
Will I be "The Running Man?"
I'm already chasing lint.
Well, those cup-stackers have nothing on Willow.
No, Willow doesn't stack things. Actually, she doesn't even construct things.
Her specialty is destructing, and she does so with blinding speed.
There used to be a cartoon on a few years back named "The Tick." On it, there was a speed greater than the speed of light. It was the speed of lint. Nothing was faster. As in: "Where did that lint come from?" "I don't know, it's just there, out of nowhere. It moves at the speed of lint."
Willow moves faster.
This morning, for example, as I finished breakfast, I heard, "Whap! Whap! Whap!" Willow had gone from playing peacefully in the floor with her cereal bowl to pulling magazines off an end table in record time. The "whaps" were the magazines hitting the floor. Then came a tissue box. Then a picture frame.
Later, as I loaded clothes into the washer, she pulled them out just as quickly. After I finally fought her off and started the washer, she moved to the pile of darks and started disassembling it.
Then as I fed her breakfast, I was left wondering, "How did she get 'Apples & Cherries' in her hair?" and "How did she get 'Apples & Cherries' in my hair?"
The girl is fast. Faster than the speed of lint.
But I fear she'll get faster.
While at the zoo last month, I spotted a man chasing after his toddler son on several occasions, at the picnic tables, at the giraffe's exhibit and at the tumble gym. The last time I spotted the pair, the man was dashing, in socked feet, toward the gift shop. I named him "The Running Man."
Do you think that will happen to me?
Will I be "The Running Man?"
I'm already chasing lint.
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