The Devil's Reveille
5:50 AM. Elijah has not yet gotten over the holiday time change. We hear the clomping of little feet down the hall. And then the day is upon us.
"Hi," Elijah says.
"Wgrumpf," I reply.
Elijah paddles around to the other side of the bed, where Regina lays, her face scrunched up tighter than Joan Rivers post-surgery.
"Good morning, macaroni butt," he says.
Regina pretends not to hear.
"Don't call your mother macaroni butt," I say.
"If you say so, salami face."
This is a pretty annoying way to wake up, but then again, it's not waking up to a kid peeing in his Barrel Of Monkeys. By comparison, getting called salami face is free health insurance.