Frog tat

"Um, what the hell is that?" I said to Julie.

"Language. What the 'H' is what?"

"That."


"Oh my God," she said. "Is that a tattoo of a frog?"

"Language."

"What? What did I say?"

"God."

"Fog," Lyla chimed in, redirecting us.

"Yes, that's a frrrog," Julie said.

"Fog!"

"Just don't pronounce it frag," I said.

"Why not?"

"Never mind."

The dilemma with the frog tat is that Lyla got a bath last night, so she's not scheduled for another one until, like, May. So what will her teachers think, day after day, when they see no change at all in the frog's luster? Oh gosh, darn it to heck, are these people secretly testing us? Are they seeing which kids turn out to be the biggest dirtballs?

I know that's really stupid. Still, I scrubbed that frog until it was a ghostly green smear.