The Wife brought NJ home from day care today and thrust three stapled pages at me. "Biting," the headline read. I scanned the first few lines, which outlined the reasons children bite other children. Before I could ask if NJ gnawed on someone -- she's still only got two teeth, but they are razor-sharp -- The Wife held the kid's hand out in my direction and showed me this:
Get forensics to make a cast of these bite marks and let's catch this perp.
The morning minder wasn't around by the end of the day, so The Wife didn't get the story (assuming the minder even saw the incident) -- whether NJ was all up in some kid's grill, or if there was dispute over toys, or if the other kid is teething terribly or just unhappy or anxious at day care, or what. All I know is that other kid had better run when he or she sees me coming, because I will make his or her life a living heck. Do you hear me, other kid? I will hunt you down Charles-Bronson-in-'Death-Wish' style. A. Living. Heck.
OK, not really. But keep your choppers to yourself, alright?
When the ladies got home NJ smiled real big and reached out for me, and now I can hear her happily chattering in the kitchen with The Wife, so she's obviously put the bite in her rear-view. Hopefully The Wife will get the lowdown tomorrow morning, and if it's at all interesting I'll update. But for now let's just chalk it up to kids being kids. At least the bite isn't contagious, like the two colds I've caught since she's been going to day care. (Unless rabies are involved, of course. Wait, what am I saying ...?)
yeow!
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