(For those who need RED print translated: “Something so tragic happened last night …. I can’t even talk about it )
(“Uh … Who told you to take the camera off me? I’m telling a story here.”)
(“As I was saying … It’s very emotional.”)
(“It started off with Jennie and her Franks. Not these … so don’t try to find this one to do something bad like suffocate it in a blanket and call it dinner for your kid.”)
So….. I was enjoying my time with Frank and then it wasn’t fun anymore. Frank went too far and it was hard to breathe. I started to choke. Mommy tried to help me, but she just wasn’t getting the job done.
First off, don’t ever blame the kid with a disability …. for anything …. ever. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. I’m innocent! Second, If anyone needs to go to save money in this house ….. it ain’t me.
It’s mommy’s fault because she makes my food at the right temperature and doesn’t give me ketchup. All those chemicals are bad for me. Boy….Was she off base? It’s like giving me matches, but not the paper.
It’s Daddy’s fault for not being home and making my lunch. He makes food so hot, I have to take a million tiny slow bites so my mouth doesn’t melt. And …. He gives me so much ketchup, it looks like a crime scene, but it makes the food slide down my throat.
But mostly it’s Daddy’s fault since Mommy always says she’s always right.
And there’s no way they’ll let me enter any hotdog eating contests. My life is over.
Oh, my gosh, that’s scary! I follow your reasoning of how it couldn’t possibly be your fault, but in the end you’r e really lucky to have a brother who was smart enough to know what to do and not afraid to wear pink.