I like to have fun. I do. Really.
I don't like ruining a fun time for anyone else...honest.
But sometimes...sometimes, you have to take the scissors away from someone running amok.
When I married Jeff, I knew what I was getting into...and when we decided to procreate, I understood that I'd be getting something with half Jeff's DNA in the equation.
And I did.
And she is brilliant. And a little dangerous in her brilliance.
And her daddy? Is her biggest supporter. And that's GREAT.
But when the two of them sit down and watch a Tosh.O episode together where Tosh orders a mini-cannon and uses it to fire a .177" bb into his own fleshy tush?
And then the child declares "I want one of those to use for my Rube Goldberg physics project!"
And Jeff rubs his hands together and starts chuckling like an evil scientist (or an evil scientist's father for that matter)?
Then, it behooves me to step in with a word of caution: "I don't think a mini cannon will be allowed."
But then the next day, the kiddo texts him with a message, "My teacher said the baby cannon is approved! I want a red one! No black! And I want it ASAP!"
And his return message is "Fuse and cannon ordered! Due to be delivered next Monday!"
And I'm all: "No. No. No. No!!!" "Stop!" "This will all end in tears!"
And so I'm printing off the spec sheets for the "baby" cannon and making her take it to the principal for approval. (It comes from a site called "Pocket Artillery")
It uses black powder. There's no way these two knuckleheads are going to be able to go through with this.
P.S. You can also buy guillotines at the same site. We're not getting one of those either. The cats have no idea how much they owe me. Nail clipping would have been a whole new world of terror.