Funny, the things Peter can remember. He has always had a vast repertoire of quips and come-backs, but recently he’s even added one or two. Several months ago I was mad at him about something, then later realized I was in the wrong. “I owe you an apology,” I said.
He came right back at me. “That’ll be ten cents, please,” he said.
I laughed because he was so quick and so funny, and he laughed because he was pleased with himself.
Happened again this week. Even though I should never blame him for anything because he can’t remember what’s gone before, I was furious that he’d pulled up a fulsome Black-Eyed Susan that had been flourishing in the corner of my herb garden. “You pulled those tendrils off after I asked you to leave them alone,” I fussed.
“What did I do?” He had no idea what I was talking about. I showed him the plant, withered, literally, on the vine. “Sorry,” he said, and I knew he meant it, though he still didn’t understand.
Yesterday, after days of pounding rain, I noticed that the plant had revived. Peter hadn’t destroyed it, Mother Nature had. She’d withheld rain for several weeks, then flooded us with it. My Black-Eyed Susan slurped at the puddles .
“I owe you an apology,” I said, pointing at the yellow flowers beaming by the fence.
“That’ll be ten cents,” he said, still clueless, but quick-quipped as always.