Toy truck

My wife's not talking to me. I think this might be because my kid left a toy truck on the stairs last week and I slipped on it, hurting my hip. Well, that's not the reason, it's just the setup. My possible downfall came when I scolded our son, and in a poignant father-son moment, I told him, "You could've killed daddy!"

Now he wets the bed every night, throws up every day at school, and gives me a 20-minute hug time I walk through the door after work.

So it could be that, or the fact that I left my plate on the table after dinner a few nights ago. Can you help?

I checked with my wife, not because I wanted her opinion, but because I wanted to see the look of horror on her face. You've got to be about the biggest idiot in America. You don't need counseling -- you need a heavy blow to the head. You're going to be dealing with this one for a while. The first thing I would do on your long road of retribution is to clean off the entire table tonight, not just your own place setting.

posted by Lawrence A. Fing @ 12:00 PM