Whiney Daughters

I have come to the conclusion that it’s never a good idea to ask your teenaged daughter, if there is something wrong. If you do, she will undoubtedly tell you, in very long sentences, with very dramatic expressions. It’s usually a show worthy of Shakespeare except for one thing; The admission price is steep. Yes, I said admission. Every time I ask this question, it cost me money. I am literally afraid of my daughter, because of how much this will drain my wallet. Here’s an example;

Can be expensive

Last year I asked he daughter what was bothering her. She said, she needed to walk more, and it was too cold outside. I thought I’d have to buy a gym membership, but that was too expensive. We decided to go to a local ‘big box’ store and walk around the large square inside. I specifically picked one in which she’d have no interest at all. Nope! After a week she had acquired a new phone, headphones, I-Pad, streaming services, and a boyfriend. I don’t know how much exercise I got, but my wallet certainly lost weight. By the way, you might think the boyfriend wouldn’t cost me much. You’d be wrong again. I could repaint the white house and kremlin in what it cost me in make-up alone, and that doesn’t include chauffer services. Thank heaven they broke up fairly quickly. This may sound insensitive, but while she was crying over him leaving, I never asked what was wrong. I’m not completely stupid.

The real problem is, when other folks ask her what’s wrong, it still costs me major cash. My sister was over last month and my daughter was moping around the house. Now my wife and I know this is standard operating procedure so we didn’t lift a finger. However, my sister is ignorant of this detail, and before we could stop her, she asked what was wrong. This time it was something new. It seems Wonder Dog has bonded strongly with my sons, and Capn’ Blood is attached to me. Actually, quite literally, usually with her claws, but sometimes with her teeth. So much so, that I once put a bandage on my bleeding leg, and when the pain grew worse, I went to the ER. They removed the bandage to find the bloodied cat still attached. I now have to remember to check for that sort of thing. Either way this is not about me, so back to the story.

Also Inexperienced famliy members

My sister asked, and learned my princess wanted a pet for her very own. As she is a strong advocate of rescuing animals, she gave my daughter an adoption certificate for Christmas. At first, I felt this wasn’t so bad. We already have a cat and dog, and all their accoutrements, so adding another couldn’t be a huge problem. Could it? I even stupidly thought, maybe a new pet would attract the attention of Capn’ Blood, and perhaps she’d leave me alone for a while. Ohh the eternal optimism of Mr. Ohh! which as usual is only to be dashed against the rocks of despair. Hey, wait a second. That was foreshadowing! I used a clever literary device in the telling of my story. Does the brilliance of me ever end? I also know how to use a simile. It’s like comparing two obscure objects. Wow, I described a simile using a simile. I’m just incredible. I’m also getting off topic, and while it’s not a literary device, it is something I do quite often.

Anyway, my daughter and sister went to the shelter to adopt a pet. Instead of a cat, dog, tarantula, snake, alligator or something normal, they came home with a rabbit. And not just any rabbit, ohh no. They arrived at my door with a Black American Silver Fox Rabbit who was only five months old. Well Whoop-De-Doo! My sister claimed this was a rare find, and I should be honored, they acquired such a thing. Look it’s a rabbit. Why they named it after a fox I have no idea, and don’t really care? Then again, it’s a black rabbit and the fox they named it after was silver. Can we say someone was smoking non-tobacco products, or drinking heavily that day? Sure, I knew you could!

Don’t even get me started on pets

The hardest thing about a rabbit is, I know how to handle a dog or cat. I haven’t a clue about a rabbit. First, I needed a three-hundred-dollar habitat for the thing. Not a cage mind you, we wouldn’t want to scar the beast’s sensibilities by putting it in a cage. Ohh no, you purchase it a nice comfortable home. My sister said, the rabbit could be free roaming around my house. Is she kidding? It took me months to baby-proof my house, and they eventually grow up. Rabbits don’t want to open poison cupboards, they chew through them. How do you protect against that? Also, they love wires. For some reason wires are a treat for rabbits. If I were to try to pick up every wire in my house, I’d be an old man before the rabbit could come out anyway. Better to just not do it, and let habitats be habitats.

Rabbit facts

Here’s another fun rabbit fact. Did you know rabbits can get mad at you? Not scared mind you, truly angry. When they do, they attack, and a rabbit is made up of ninety percent muscle. They spring hard, move fast, and take no prisoners. Then they sit in the cute rabbit pose while the women in your house believe them to be innocent. Frankly the US Army should use a Rabbit Battalion. They could feed themselves on local grasses, and when they attack, the enemy wouldn’t know what hit them. It’s like something out of Monty Python.

Also, rabbits have sharp claws for digging in dirt, but I bet you didn’t know they consider anything in their way dirt; sheets, carpet, wood sub-floors, plaster walls, my daughter’s arm, everything. What a great pet, and my sister thinks we should have this beast running around loose in my house. I don’t think so.

And of course Rabbit names

Of course, this new addition to our family had to have a name. Well, in the spirit of poor choices of naming animals in my home we called our rabbit, Baby Bun-Bun. AAAAAAAAAAACH! This leads to a whole new set of embarrassments. You see my vet knows me, and knows my children are awful at naming pets. Sadly, she does not treat rabbits. I had to find a special rabbit vet. Once I did, I gave all the particulars to Dr. Allice and thought I’d be okay. Nope! The next day I got an e-mail confirming Baby Bun-Bun’s appointment. Can’t they just use my name? I had to wear a bag over my head when I arrived. When the assistant came into the room, she looked at me then the rabbit and said, “Ohh! This must be Baby Bun-Bun!”, as is there could possibly be some confusion.

Anyway, now there’s a Baby Bun-Bun Ohh! file at the new vet’s, and a new Mr. Ohh! file at the mental hospital. After this ordeal, I need a long rest.