The Slamming of Doors

This girl does not care what you think.

This girl does not care what you think.

Yesterday, Betty got into my bag and snuck out a Tootsie Roll Pop.

This was a grave offense, because she’s not supposed to go through my bag AND she was supposed to be eating dinner at the time.

“I gotta eat this,” she declared.

“No,” I said gently, “You need to eat your pizza.”

“No!” she insisted. “I want a lollipop! I want a lollipop!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “But you know you’re not supposed to go through daddy’s bag, and you can’t eat a lollipop for dinner.”


the lollipop
a w a y

Her eyes welled up at this betrayal. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, arms outstretched, hands grasping.

Then, all of a sudden, a decision was made. She turned, and ran to her room as fast as she could. Then she slammed the door.

Then, there was silence. At first I didn’t know what to do while waiting for her to come out. I had the urge to go in there and be all TV-dad like, asking her how she feels and using words like “kiddo” and “sport.”

Eventually I thought back to that situation when I was her age. Why did I run away to my room and slam the door? To get away, to be by myself, to have a break, even if just for a second. So I ate my pizza and let her calm down.

Eventually, I heard her door open and she came out, all smiles. It took about five minutes.

“Where’d the pizza go?” she asked.

“Right there,” I said, gesturing to her plate.

She ate some pizza, and I ate the rest. She ate some peas, and I ate the rest.

When it was time for dessert, I asked her if she wanted the lollipop.

“No,” she replied. “I want a chocolate treat!”

So she got one.

She wanted the lollipop about two hours later, but she didn’t get it. Only one dessert. Them’s the rules.

She took it much better the second time.


About paulgude

Paul Gude writes small books, makes stupid music, draws silly pictures, and does weird things on stage.
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