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The sign awaiting Alex's arrival from Ohio on Saturday: WARNING, Alligator Nest, This Sign Provided by the Florida Department of Environmental Protection. Removal of This Sign Could Get You Grounded, Alex.
Peter Stuart Lakanen!
At least that's how I expect the next conversation with my mother to begin after she reads this blog post. Then she'll go on about how I should know better than to terrify my only blood nephew and how he'll be traumatized for life. Blah, blah, blah.
Last week we had a big pile of mulch delivered. It wasn't until Friday afternoon that I realized how brilliantly that delivery had played into my plan to convince Alex that there are alligators in our yard.
I talked to the little guy on the phone when he and his mom were driving down on Friday. "Alex, I've got some bad news," I said.
"What?" he asked.
"The alligators are back," I explained.
"But you said you got rid of them!"
"Well, I did. But they came back and built a nest."
I went to tell him that he was going to need be careful when he got here. Since he's arrived, he's been steering clear of the nest and looking under our cars for alligators.
No doubt, I've made my father proud and my mother upset.
Last night when Alex was out back with Aunt Candy, he asked her if there were really alligators in the nest. She (who's been opposed to this alligator plan from the beginning and thinks it's starting to get out of hand) couldn't lie to him, but she didn't spoil it either. All she said was, "I'm not sure there are alligators in there. But you can never be too careful."
Call Webster — he needs to update the definition of wife with a picture of Candy.
Day Three of the nerve medicine and so far, so good. Today at lunch she rated her hip/leg pain a 3 on the 1-10 scale. Wish us luck.
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