When you first moved in to my house a while back, I thought you were cute.
Well, not literally cute. I mean, I couldn’t see you, after all. None of us could.
But Chip could. And I thought it was adorable how you and he would have conversations together. How you’d whisper secrets into his ear, that were relayed on to the rest of the family. How he’d clutch you in his tiny little hand, and hold you close to my face so I could inspect your beautiful blue hair.
I admit that I initially frowned a bit at your blue hair. “What kind of influence would you be on my children?” I thought.
But, still, I welcomed your arrival at first. You encouraged my son to use his imagination. You played nicely together. And you were very, very quiet.
You were the perfect house guest.
Lately, however, things have changed with you. Over the past few weeks, your ugly side has slowly emerged. And I’m beginning to think you’re not the perfect angel you initially made yourself out to be.
First, there are the messes you keep making around the house. Candy wrappers strewn haphazardly on my kitchen floor. Matchbox cars lying in a heap beside the toy box. Silly putty stuck to the living room carpet.
I’ve been told that you are the culprit for these messes. What’s up with that?
And then there are the mealtime battles. You see, we have a rule in this house. You must take a “no, thank you” bite of everything on your plate. But apparently, you missed that memo.
So when you refused to eat your pancakes this morning for breakfast, it caused quite a ruckus. Apparently, if Coco ain’t eating it, neither is Chip.
Seriously. Who doesn’t like pancakes? I slaved over a hot microwave to nuke those pancakes, and you will at least take a “no, thank you” bite, mister.
I’m not liking what I’m seeing, Coco. I’ve had enough of your shenanigans. And I think it’s about time you packed your bags and moved out.
Or maybe that’s too harsh. On second thought, maybe that makes me a bad hostess. I’m willing to give you a second chance to shape up.
I just have one request. Do you think you could start eating your breakfast? Or, at the very least, pretend like you’re eating your breakfast?
That would be a big help. And if you do that, I might let you stay after all.
As long as you pick up your toys.
The Lady of the House