A Midget Assassin

I think Princess Punk has a hit out on me. Maybe it’s The Zen Master. Or My Mom. Regardless of who it was, I know who the assassin is. The Peach is not exactly stealthy but damn if she isn’t persistent.

She back-kicked me in the chin yesterday, dead on. She may only weigh 21 lb but she put a hell of a lot of force behind it and I actually felt my already unstable jaw briefly crack out of joint on the left. Not a pleasant sensation. And the subsequent headache made me want to hit myself with a hammer just to distract from the blinding pain.

She’s tripped me several times in the past few days. Just minding my own business and all of a sudden, I’m performing Charlie Chaplin-like maneuvers to avoid stepping on chubby little fingers or squashing a fat round belly.

On Tuesday, she tried to give me food poisoning by shoving some kind of… something… in my mouth that she pulled out from under the seat pad of her high chair. I think it may have been a piece of hot dog at one point?

Oh, and her preferred method of execution seems to be cardiac arrest. She’s made my heart stop briefly on several occasions, most recently when she attempted to launch herself off the changing table, headfirst onto the floor. I’m guessing she knows that the police would be hard-pressed to come up with enough evidence to determine she intentionally caused a stress-induced myocardial infarction. A daredevil toddler is hardly suspicious for homicidal intent.

If I can find out what her fee is, maybe I can pay her off so she’ll stop making blatant attempts on my life. I wonder if I can come up with enough cheerios, goldfish and shiny, breakable electronic gadgets to satisfy her commission.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: Shit Happens | newlifeinvermont

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