Who Let the Claws Out?

I asked Medium Fry to wash the supper dishes the other night. She goofed off for so long that she managed to stretch that single sink full into nearly an hour and a half of sudsy angst, then was enraged that she didn't have time left to paint her nails before bed. Like, no bedtime hug enraged, and for her that's serious. Whoopty-doo, right?

W.R.O.N.G. The little brat soaped my toothbrush in retaliation.
(Oh yes she di-id!)

You have not seen mad like I get mad when someone interferes with my obsessive oral hygiene regime. Frankly, I had never seen it either because I've never had anyone put soap on my toothbrush before, but I assure you I was plenty displeased. Because Medium Fry was already in bed by the time I discovered The Soaping, I had the whoooole night to weigh the merits of each potential sentence: a reciprocal soaping? Dishes FOREVER? A good old-fashioned beating?

Meh, none of the above. She's a good kid. The next day I asked if there was anything she wanted to tell me and she promptly burst into tears and apologized. All I really had to do was make sure I got all my laughing done before I confronted her so I could keep a straight face while she blubbered. In fact, she was so contrite that when I told her she had to buy me a new toothbrush out of her allowance, she didn't even think to point out that there are about sixty spare toothbrushes under the sink. (Now there are about sixty-one.)

Between the fury and the blubbering, I've got a pretty solid guess as to what's going on. As the prophecy stated, thus has the time of darkness descended upon us: puberty.

Which is terrifying enough in itself, but can you even imagine the horror if I had waited until I was forty to start having children, instead of, er, "waiting" until I was twenty-two? - good lawd, we'd have puberty and menopause occurring in the same household at the same time. A poorly-timed toothbrush soaping would be nothing short of a death wish.

Similarly, given Medium Fry's current emotional state, it occurs to me that if the child discovers all the things I've posted about her over the years - based on her going completely over the edge over a sink full of dishes, and assuming her reaction will be proportionate to her degree of wrathfulness - I *could* be in hot water. So dear readers, don't be alarmed if you don't see any more Medium Fry stories on here for the next eight years or so - I (probably) haven't killed her off, I'm just hedging my bets to try and ensure she extends me the same courtesy.