“They’re punished,” he said.
I blinked at him. And I waited. With Jude, I’ve discovered that it’s usually best to see if these odd pronouncements are followed by anything, or if he’s just talking to imaginary friends.
“They were both bad. And so now they’re punished.”
I didn’t want to ask. But he was clearly addressing me, so I had no other choice. “Who were both bad, Jude?”
“Elvis and The Master.”
I considered turning the deep fryer back on and putting my hand into it, just to find a way out of this conversation.
“Elvis and The Master, huh? What did they do?”
“They just took over the world. So they had to be punished. By the shark.”
And with this, he shrugged, turned around, and wandered off.
Honestly, I’d like to say that I debated tracking him down and getting more information, but I really didn’t. If I were going to try and make sense of everything that came out of The Jude’s mouth, I’d get even less done around here than I do already. Besides which, to the best of my knowledge, there are no living creatures named “Elvis” or “The Master” who are currently under my charge, so I figured I could let this one slide.
Half an hour later, still waiting for the donut dough to rise, I figured it would be wise to make myself scarce before the minions realized they still hadn’t been fed and came to me to remedy the situation. I retreated into the living room, the floor of which is generally covered in blocks, train tracks, and books. Unexpectedly, it was clear, except for one puppet.
I bent down to pick it up, and discovered Elvis and The Master.
You may laugh, but the gravity of the message was not lost upon me: If this was the punishment The Jude doled out to wooden dolls, how much worse would it be for mothers who did not promptly make good on their breakfast promises of donuts?
I, for one, am not brave enough to find out; I went back into the kitchen to go urge the dough to rise faster. Better to feed The Jude, than have him feed me to the Shark.
Sorry, Shark. Have a donut instead.
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