Wednesday is trash day in our neighborhood. This morning, after 8 years of being Evans’ mother, he decides to pose the, “Do you know why I am scared of the trash trucks?” question to me as I am backing out of the driveway.
“Evans, you are NOT afraid of trash trucks. You have never been afraid of the trash trucks. But, why don’t you go ahead and tell me what brought on this sudden fear of them, eh?” At this point, I have put the truck back into the ‘PARK’ position as I know that this is going to warrant a level of patience that I don’t have to give while driving.
“It’s the spikes that are on the tires.”
“The spikes. On. The. Tires. Like, the TREAD? Like that is on my PRIUS?”
And, this is where Morgan pipes up and things get really interesting.
“Yeah, those and the claw things that pick up the cans that can pick us up and then we would have to go live in the trash dump. And then, we would have to try and survive on what we could find in the trash that other people put in their trash.”
Evans: “Yeah. And, we would have to survive on things like, dead rats. And, maggots. And, and, GRUBS.”
Morgan: “Oh, what are grubs? But, maybe I could find my fig bar. But, not the red one, the blue one is blueberry but the purple one has more figs in it.”
Evans: “You wouldn’t be able to find your fig bar, Morgan. That’s stupid. Fig bars aren’t in the dump. Those aren’t the kind of snack, it’s too small. That is what people eat and then throw the wrapper away.”
Morgan: “Well, what if they were some purple fig bars that went bad?”
Evans: “You couldn’t eat those if they went bad, duh…”
Morgan: “But, ….”
Never fucking mind that they were discussing ways to survive in a trash dump. I dropped them off and came home.