My oldest daughter loves cheese. She will often hover around when I am grating it and, when I am not looking, scoop some up and run off leaving a trail of shredded bits behind her. She is a true cheese-lover, or “Turophile” ( “Tyros” is Greek for cheese and “Phile” is English for Lover ). As of yet she hasn’t actually asked me to lick the cheese off of the grater, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
She takes after her old man, but unfortunately my dairy days are over. It’s bad for prostate cancer and, as such, that cow, at least for me, has gone off to pasture.
Last week I was rolling around with my youngest daughter, Kaylee, on the grass in our backyard. At one point I heaved her up and unceremoniously plopped her onto her butt. What happened next surprised me. Her eyes grew as big as saucers and she launched herself into the air with a loud shriek.
“Dad threw me onto a bee!”, she screamed, flailing her arms.
“DAD THREW ME ONTO A BEE!”, she screamed again, louder.
In one swift move Jodie rushed over, picked her up, sat her on a bench, and removed the stinger. After Jodie produced a bag of frozen peas to apply to the gaping hole in Kaylee’s leg I felt the situation had been diffused enough to sidle up next to her. This comic was inspired by what transpired next.