Primo does not have the slightest idea how to make bunny ears and tie his shoes. He does know how to tie knots. Not just regular knots. My son knows how to tie irreversible, failsafe, crazy-tight little jugger-knots (like that? just coined the phrase right then); he is so good at it, in fact, that if I ever have to transport something on the top of my car, I am getting him to secure it on there.
I don’t know who taught him to do this. Perhaps it was the ghost of Blackbeard. It was, without a doubt, some semi-professional with seafaring experience. The kid could go to Knot-tying Olympics. He is fast and precise. Before you can say “No! Don’t” the knot has been secured and two things are permanently attached. Now that he knows how to tie knots, he can’t stop himself. The way that he goes around affixing items to each other with string, you’d think the sight of a world with free-range obj
ects was an abomination to him. He is hooked.Can you begin to imagine how annoying this habit is for me, his housemate? Every time I turn around, there’s a new blockade in my path. Chairs tied together, bedroom doors tied to closet doors tied to the toy-bin. The center of his tying universe is his bed. That bed has more shit hanging off of it than a chandelier, and after he affixes toys to strings and fastens the string to the top bunk railing, he encourages Seconda to swing on the twine like Tarzan. Wrong on a number of levels.
I can only hope that
his addiction subsides before the advent of autumn when I begin wearing shoes with laces. Otherwise I’m expecting some serious face-plants in my future.
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