Gina picked me up and sat me in the high chair so I could finally get something to eat. After I had gotten settled, she stepped behind me and began snapping something around my neck. I looked down and saw she was putting a toddler’s plastic feeding bib on me. “Gina,” I said, looking up into her bovine eyes, “What is the meaning of this?”
“But the book said….”, she started to explain.
“What book?”, I interrupted.
“The book I bought you,” she explained.
“You didn’t give me any book!”, I told her.
“Well….The book isn’t really for you,” she temporized.
I sighed heavily, I could see it was going to be like pulling teeth to extract this piece of information from her. I asked slowly and patiently, “Then who is the book for?”
“It’s for me,” she admitted.
“If the book is for you, then why are you getting advice for me out of it?”, I asked carefully.
“Because the instructions said so,” she explained.
I had a bad feeling about the way that the conversation was heading. I plowed in though, anxious to discover the author of her actions. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the ill news I was sure that was coming and said softly, “What instructions?”
“The ones I got at the hospital,” she said with perfect naiveté.
“Did the instructions tell you to buy the book?”, I asked.
“Well….noooo,” she said evasively.
“Then why did you buy the book?”, I asked.
“Because the instructions said I should get it if I had any questions,” she answered.
“And you had questions, right?”, I asked rhetorically.
“Right!,” she beamed back at me.
“And what would be the name of this tome of infinite wisdom?”, I asked her sarcastically.
“What?”, she asked in bafflement.
I closed my eyes again and said as succinctly as I could, “What is the name of the book, Gina?”
“Oh, that!”, Gina said, finally understanding my request.
“Well?”, I said.
“Well what?”, she asked me back.