My hands were deep in suds, cleaning up the dinner dishes. The Hare, The Tortoise and my best friend Erin were sitting around the kitchen counter finishing homework. It’s a pretty laid back atmosphere at my house – we spend most of the evenings giggling over jokes or singing to loud music banging from the counter-top speakers. Everyone has their favorite playlists.
Erin has been wearing pink knitted slipper-socks each night to keep her feet warm in my very cold, hard-wood floor, house. They look like pink inch-worms climbing her calves, complete with a tied bow and powder puffs dangling down. One puffy ball is already missing, and the others have caught Luna’s eye on more than one occasion this week.
On Monday night, Luna decided she was going to stalk Erin’s slippers, batting and whining at the dangling pom-pom.
Erin: “Luna! Quit playing with my balls!”
The pre-teen and easily embarrassed Tortoise broke out in nervous laughter, her cheeks turning bright pink as she repeated the phrase, “playing with my balls“. I couldn’t help but giggle a little myself. All of a sudden, The Hare broke out in hysterical laughter, shaking the whole kitchen in her wake, tears streaming down her face. She even slapped the counter with her hand for emphasis.
“Quit playing with MY BALLS! That’s hilarious!” The Hare gasped between laughing hiccups.
Erin and I looked at each other in confusion.
“Hare,” I asked, “Do you even know what balls are?”
The Hare continued to laugh, “Not a clue, but it sounded like something I should laugh at.”