Some sounds are good. Some are bad. As I was backing out of my garage this morning I heard one from column B, the bad sound column. Ever hear the sound a balloon makes if you rub against your hand, a sweater, sleeping hobo? That sort of 10 percent good squeaky sound but mostly bad? Well I heard that, and it was not a balloon being rubbed on a hobo it was my car rubbing against the wood trim on the garagae. This was indeed a bad sound.
So with my daughter in the back lost in her 8 billionth viewing of Wall-E there I was in the driveway at the crack of dawn feverishly trying to make the bad bad site go away. First a wet rag to get the white paint off my still not fully ours yet car. Then an old bath sponge. Finally I Got the paint off but could feel (but not fully see due to the small amount of sun around) a scratch, a protruding scratch. Out of frustration and the need to harm something that wasn't me (the REAL culprit) I angrily tossed the bucket of water i brought out against the driveway and it loudly smacked against our garage door. My daughter didn't find this scary, just odd. She is quite the observationalist and knew this wasn't right and she proceeded to tell me that it was "bad to make a mess". Yes sweetie, but the bucket had it coming.
So off we go, her to my in-laws and me to work all the while I'm cursing the big loon that is me. Then I look in my rear view mirror and I see my daughter with her knit hat but the mittens I had just put on her tucked up under the hat. "Sweetie, what are you doing?" I said as she made a sound that appeared to be clucking. "I'm a rooster Daddy! Cluck..cluck!". I know what foolish is now. Foolish isn't a three year old pretending to be a rooster, nope,,.....we NEED that type of nonsense to ground us. Foolish is a 43 year old yutz behaving like a baby in his driveway at 6:50 am on a Monday. Now I know.
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