Monster is like a miniature version of the town drunk.
That sounds harsh, but let’s explore this.
There’s the obvious: slurred speech, drooling, poor motor skills, somehow always having a bump on his head, wetting himself, thinking the toilet is hilaaaaaaarious.
What cemented this theory is something I witnessed recently at the bite-size table where Monster dines.
As we ate breakfast, Monster – who just seconds earlier was laughing and clapping at Clifford – randomly decided to pick a fight with … well, everything.
It started with the zucchini muffin. Something about that muffin just ticked him off. Maybe it looked at him the wrong way, maybe it was creeping on the banana he had been eyeing. Whatever it was, Monster wasn’t going to take it anymore.
He slammed his fat fist on the table and declared, “No!”
He hopped off his chair, totally didn’t stick the landing and wobbled into the wall. This, of course, was the chair’s fault, so he pushed it halfway across the kitchen yelling what I would assume would translate to, “Why are you even getting involved? This has nothing to do with you! Stop hating, you stupid chair! You’re not even a real chair. You’re only for babies.”
He then stumbled back to the table, where the zucchini muffin lie, clearly still mocking the child. The dog and I watched, incredibly confused, as Monster silently stared for a full 20 seconds at his plate, turning his head slightly to the left while narrowing his eyes on his breakfast. You could almost see him saying, “You … I can’t believe you have the nerve to even show your face here…”
Then, in one swift motion, he raised his arm and swiped the food from the table.
It’s ridiculous. We were having such a pleasant meal and now, for reasons no one can comprehend, muffin and banana are flying through the air, the chair is on its side and the dog is hiding under the bed upstairs.
As bystanders do, we’re quick to placate to keep the situation from worsening. It just takes the right distraction. With the over-indulger, it’s a funny memory or leaving the bar.
With Monster, it’s usually talking about Elmo or puppies or shoes.
Once we ascertained which shoes were best to wear on a rainy morning, Monster resumed awkward drunk-person mode and began eating his breakfast off the floor. He picked up crumbles of the muffin and smiled at them, as though they had found a common ground from which they could rebuild their friendship. “No way, you’ve been to the kitchen? I love the kitchen! Have you met the spatula yet?”
Monster then pointed to the banana and shook his head with a knowing laugh. “You? Oh, you. You know I love you. I’m so sorry you got mixed up in this. We have known each other too long to do this. Heck, you were my first solid food!”
Monster will never remember what occurred that morning. At best, he may have some flashbacks.
Though I do half-expect him to be a little embarrassed next time he sees our dog. “Sorry about that. You know how out of control I can get during breakfast. It’s just, well, I’m cutting teeth, and things are changing at daycare, they got me in another room … I just needed to blow off some steam, you know? It won’t happen again.”
… And just like with the town drunk, you can expect it to happen again. And again.