MyThreeDaughters

“Daddy, what’s that bone sticking out of the middle of T. Rex?”
Oh, Lord, please, Oh Lawdylawdylawdylawdy…Do they really have to make skeletons so, so, so FREAKING BONY?
We sat on Rosebud’s couch, the innocent three-year-old on my left side and Elizabeth, the innocent six-year-old on my right. “Innocent,” I say, but they surely must know they are torturing me.
I had surely never noticed the bone that now seemed to stick two feet straight out of T. Rex’s mid-section. I know I had never noticed it in middle school, or my friends and I would have made lots of jokes about it.
Dang Dinosaur bones. Mr. Rex, put that thing away!
Daddy, I told myself, I believe there is a question that has been posed.
Clearly, it wasn’t an arm. I saw two arms up higher.
Maybe it’s for weight, to help balance out the tail, see how his tail goes straight back from there? I suggested.
(C’mon, girls, sounds logical, right, just like the weights on a crane, buy it, buy it, buy it…)
But no sale.
“MAYBE IT’S HIS PENIS!” Rosebud shouted.
Innocent, oh no, planned torture.
Then Elizabeth piled on: “A HARD penis, whoever heard of that?!”
Oh lawdy, lawdy, oh man, oh please stop. Please let me sing “Rockabye baby” and tuck in these rascals. Please, at least, let’s move on to Brontosaurus.
But then they both began giggling uncontrollably, as I tried to slither down between the couch cushions.
I think I saw the little devils go behind my back and high five.