The Bone Collector

Thing 1 has a passion for skeletons. I thought it might come and go with Halloween, but Halloween was over hours ago and he’s still going strong.

His grandma bought him a book about the human body. It’s about 5 years too old for him. He loves it. He sits in his tree-house and stares at the pictures of our innards and will explain to anyone that happens by about the secret lives of skeletons. It’s kind of creepy.

“I want to go in the desert and dig up bones,” he tells me for about the hundredth time in a 10 minute period. I make the mental note not to show him GoodFellas again.

“There aren’t any bones in the desert,” I answer. “None that we want to find anyway.”

“It’s okay,” he replies. “We can bring them home and I’ll clean them with the hose.”

“Your puppy ate the hose,” I remind him, proud of my block.

“I’ll wash them in the sink with the dishes.” He didn’t skip a beat.

“What are you going to do with bones?” I ask.

“Make a skeleton of course.”

Of course.

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