“Getting a drink is okay. The fact that you are walking up the stairs wearing roller blades is what’s scaring me”
I heard it, but I was too busy trying to figure out if the three-day old meatballs should be tossed or saved to give it any real thought. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard it again, clank, clunk, clink.
A quick sniff confirmed that the suspect meatballs smelled okay, and armed with the knowledge that most of us Needlemans possess rock solid stomachs, I decided they were worth saving, at least for another day. Good. Decision made. Now, what was that clunking sound anyway?
I turned and gasped, hands to my heart in the old-style, highly dramatic way that I’ve perfected after 27 years of mommying. I started honing this with Kid #3, and by Kid #5 my performance was flawless. A quick inward breath, a pause, eyes opened wide with shock, the hands to the heart.
“Pinny. Needleman. What do you think you are doing?”
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