Pigs

When Julie was young, her family had two pet pigs named Thunder and Chestnut. When she was slightly older, they ate Thunder and Chestnut. I believe she has deep-seeded psychosis from this experience. It'll never surface--that's how deep-seeded it is.

So Lyla and I went to the zoo today with a friend and her 15-month-old son. Probably our great families will unite in the throes of holy matrimony in about 25 years. For now, Lyla and William are just zoo buddies. Give it time.

Anyway, we went to the farm baby exhibit, which thrilled Lyla not at all, and I came home with the following picture:


Julie saw it and said, "Did you give her a bath? Blech!"

And I said, "Um, no?"

"Seriously!? Aren't her pants disgusting?"

Immediately I realized that Julie thought the pig was real.

"That's a statue of a pig."

"That's a--a statue?"

"You can't tell a real pig from a pig statue?"

"Well, I--"

"And you once owned pig pets that you later ate?"

A nugget of psychosis flashed across Julie's face, but then she smiled pleasantly and said, "Did Lyla see the fish?"

"Oh yes. Still enamored with the fish."