So Charlie somehow convinced Charles and I to get a hamster a while back. She was going to name him Topher and call him Toph for short, but I was joking around and was like, "You mean Tofu?" and then she couldn't stop calling him Tofu, so the name stuck. He was a cute little fucker, but alas, as hamsters do, he up and died. He was on his hamster wheel when we found him, so I can only assume that he died doing what he loved because that little guy ran on that thing like his little life depended on it. Thank GOD I sprung for the nice and quiet version because otherwise it would have kept my children awake and dear sweet mother of god they are demons if they don't get enough sleep. We apparently broke tradition with this one as it was obviously not Charlie's 18th birthday, so I'm guessing that is why we were punished with such a short time with Tofu. Well, that and...hamsters live for like, what, all of 10 minutes? At least this one wasn't actively plotting my death.
Charlie then decided that she wanted to buy an Aussiedoodle (a vet tech friend of mine said she had coined the name Digeridoodle for them so that is forever what I shall refer to them as). She saved up her money and eventually found one, of course a few hours away, so we drove to see him and of course fell in love. (And of course we get our first ever dog that gets carsick, which was super fun on the ride home.) He is a cute little fucker besides that, and Charles refers to him as "the mop" because he goes what we call "full mop mode" and if he hasn't been groomed for a while...well, you get the idea.
Meet Chief the Digeridoodle in full mop mode, otherwise known as Chiefie McChieferson or The Mop.
Needless to say, with a face like that, Tofu was quickly relegated to a fond memory.
Or so I thought. And let's be honest, what is my parenting besides traumatic to my children? OF COURSE the subject of Tofu came up, in an incredibly fucked up way. In my defense, it was completely inadvertent. But it's what happens when you name your pet after food.
(Charlie telling me about a woman she had seen online with really long nails on her toes. She said that her husband had tried to grab them and the woman was all like, they aren't extensions of my toes! Then the following conversation ensued.)
Me: Yeah, it's not like hair extensions where it's like part of your hair. Or finger extensions. Wait, is that even a thing? Like you go and find nice fingers and chop them off and then slide them on?
Charlie: You can't just slide them on, Mom. There's bones in them.
Me: Maybe it's like an egg, where you poke the hole on the top and blow all the insides out? Or in this case, the bone out?
C: Then you see your dog chewing a "chicken bone".
Me: That's disturbing. (In retrospect, I chose *this* moment to get disturbed?)
C: Tastes like chicken!
Me: I was gonna say tastes like beef.
C: Everything tastes like chicken.
Me: Wait...tastes like tofu!
C: (horrified silence)
Me: (asking in oblivious) What?
Charlie: Tofu? Too soon, Mom. Too soon.
Thank God that kid has my sense of humor. And as always, Venmo in my bio for future therapy needs.
