On Day Four, Thursday, of our weeklong vacation, I became particularly disgusted with this epic de-pacifying process. The pacifier, in addition to being torn, was the color of an aquarium that hadn’t been cleaned since the heyday of Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. At 1:30 p.m., just before naptime, a particularly moody and annoying Riley began whining for his paci, which lay buried in the detritus of lunch on the kitchen counter.
DING! News flash. I could end this now.
The urge grew clearer and stronger.
End this now. End This Now! END. THIS. NOW!
Thinking I could cut the jagged edge off in one elegant motion, I grabbed a knife from the drawer. I turned my back to Riley and cut.
The tough silicone and the cheap, dull knife conspired against me. Instead of the singular deft move I envisioned, I was hacking and sawing away like someone cutting a side of beef with a pair of nail scissors. If Benihana had been so inept, he would have succeeded only in peddling stir-fried slop from a roach infested
Riley had seen the entire act of butchery. All that remained was a centimeter long stump.
I handed it to him. “Here, you can still use it,” I said feebly, praying it would still work.