This evening, after being jail beaten, kneed in the groin and pummelled with a plastic bowling pin, I curled into a fetal position on the living room floor and surrendered to a merciless coughing fit. Connor knelt down by my side, gently lifted my head and said, "Daddy, I think you have a bad cold. Let's destroy the enemy." I was overcome by a wave of emotions. Love of my first born's concern for my health. Confusion and dismay over the insane sentences that come out of his mouth. And finally fear, fear that for the last fifteen minutes I had been the enemy and my monkey torture wasn't finished.
No mercy for the weak.
Fran Leibowitz on books and reading
5 hours ago