Regular readers of this blog know I love to ask little kids how they got hurt, or why they got sick, etc. They usually have interesting stories to tell:
Henry, just turned 4 years old, comes to my office with a scraped-up knee courtesy of a fall from a deck (or so his mother alleged):
Me: “So, Henry, what happened to your knee?”
Henry, bravely: “A tiger shark bit me in the bath tub.”
Why kids hate bath night… (Photo by Emerille)
Me: “A tiger shark?”
Henry, startled by my poor shark knowledge: “That’s the only kind that goes in bath tubs, buddy.”
Henry’s mom (no doubt overcome by maternal guilt): “Where was I when the shark bit you?”
Henry: “You were peeing on your potty. But you were asleep.”
Me: “How did you make the shark go away?”
Henry: “I told him nice sharks eat dog food and he went to go find some.”
(The scene closes with Henry doing some kind of hula-like dance, chanting “Down the drain, down the drain, down the drain…”)
