My Mountain Man is so happy every night to come in from his long commute home from his long day at work and get to play with his little Pie.
They play toss-in-the-air games, blowing raspberries on the belly games, making-funny-faces games, climbing and diving and running and spinning games. She laughs a lot, and when she does her eyes sparkle.
The Pie has eyes that seem to be a perfect cross between mine and the Mountain Man’s. They’re a little bit grey like his, but have white lines like mine.
Just the other day they were compared to the blue marbled school photo background from the ‘80s. It was a fair assessment.
My Mountain Man has a macabre side. A dark, sordid side. He sometimes says things that people shouldn’t say. At least not out loud.
He was playing with her just the other day, while I was finishing cooking dinner, and he said:
Her eyeballs are so pretty. I want to scoop them out and put them on a shelf.
I refrained from calling social services. I refrained from taking the Pie immediately out of his hands and hiding all the grapefruit spoons.
I smiled and said “well, maybe we should leave them in her head. At least for now. They really do make her face quite nice.”