I Mean, It’s Not Like It’s a Giraffe

When my eight-year-old son wakes before me, he takes it upon himself to wake me as well by knocking on my back. Fist clenched, as one would do when knocking on a front door.

Labor Day, 6:38 a.m.

Nash: Knock, knock, knock.

Me: “Eh…huh?” I turn around, wiping the sleep from my eyes in an attempt to see.

Nash: “Do you think it’s legal to have a capybara as a pet?” he asks while kneeling beside me.

Me: “What? What time is it?”

Nash: “Do. You. Think. It. Is. Legal. To. Have. A. Capybara. As. A. Pet?”

My Brain: WTF is a capybara?

Me: “I don’t know, bug bug. Let Mommy get a coffee and we can look it up.”

Nash: “It’s legal in some states. I mean, they’re just like a large rodent.”

My Brain: Okay, so we’re dealing with a large rodent here.

Nash: “Some people in New York cuddle them on their couch.”

My Brain: What the actual fuck?

Me: “Like, how large are they?” I ask as I sit up a bit and adjust the pillows behind my back.

Nash: “Like only this big,” he explains, spreading his hands about 18 inches apart. “I mean, it’s not like it’s a giraffe.”

My Brain: A giraffe? How did we get from a rodent to a giraffe?

Nash: “Did you know there’s a place near the Sahara where you can stay, and the doors and windows open, and a giraffe comes in while you’re having breakfast?”

Me: “Wouldn’t you be concerned it’s going to eat your food?”

Nash: “Giraffes don’t eat human food. I want to go to Egypt next.”

Me: “Why Egypt?”

Nash: “To go to the Sahara Desert.”

Me: “I thought the Sahara was in Africa.”

Nash: Looking at me with a questioning gaze, “Mommyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!” followed by uncontrollable laughter.

My Brain: What’s so funny?

My Brain: Oh.

My Brain: Balls.

My Brain: Egypt is in Africa.