When we were on vacation in Alabama last month, I found a little yellow fish in the sand. I think it’s a fishing lure, but I have no idea because I don’t fish. All I knew was that it was cute, and it said “Shakespeare” on it.
Deciding this was a sign from the gods of the beach that I should be writing, I brought it inside.
Simon immediately stole it away to keep in his room.
Okay, that’s cool. I let him have it because I knew that once it came time to go home, I could take it back and keep it on my desk. Chances were, he’d forget about it once he had access to all his little toys.
We got home. I put it on my desk. It stayed there for a good two weeks.
Then, the other day, I’m walking through the living room, and I see it sitting on the coffee table.
“Where did this come from?” I ask Simon.
He looks at me like I’m an idiot (which happens more often than I’d like to admit.)
“The table,” he tells me. Because, duh, it’s on the table.
“No, before the table, where was it?”
He stares at me some more. Again, I’m being an idiot.
“On the paper.”
Yes, yes, he’s right, to be exact, it was on the pad of paper before I picked it up.
“Before that,” I say.
And he just stares.
“Was it on mom’s desk?”
“It was on the table.”
Apparently, I was just too dense to get it. It didn’t matter that it was once on mom’s desk. It had been claimed by Simon, and it was his. The only thing that mattered now was that it was on the table with his stuff. His. Not mine.
I finally got it, put the fish back down on the pad of paper, and walked away.
I don’t think I’m going to get Shakespeare back anytime soon.