The Thingy

While sitting in the living room

Emy flounced down the stairs carrying an empty water bottle. “Ash-a-ley! I need your heeeeelp!” She shouted, even though I was only five feet away from her.

“What do you need Em?” I asked, more amused than annoyed by her utter ridiculousness.

“Daddy wants you to change the thingy for the thingy so I can fill this thing with some stuff or whatever.” (The only explanation I have for what she said is this: She believed the sheer volume of information she needed to convey would be too much for my simple intellect, so she decided to remove all unnecessary information to make the process of understanding easier for me.)

“He wants me to change what?”  Her process was faulty.

“You know,” she rolled her eyes, “the thingy!”  She was exasperated at my obvious stupidity.

“No, I do not know.”

“Ugg! I’ll do it myself!” She grunted one last time and stomped off.

I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be the only one who possesses the intellect to be capable of saying something like “Daddy wants you to change the thingy for the thingy so I can fill this thing with some stuff or whatever.” It must be so hard to be the only competent one in the family, Emy. I feel bad for you, what a sad 5 year old you must be.

The End