Emma Kelly spent the weekend with her daddy. And on Saturday night, I get a text from him that stopped me dead in my tracks.
“EK wants a turtle.”
The following is our text exchange:
Me: Good luck with keeping that.
He: At your house
Me: Absolutely not.
He: Yep. Already got it and bringing it tomorrow. (Attaches pic of baby turtle in hand) Say hi to Leonardo.
Me: I am not keeping a turtle. End of story.
He: I got the starter kit for you so it should be pretty easy.
Me: I don’t care. No.
And that was the last I heard. So I sat on that for the next 12 hours, getting good and steamed because my ex set me up to be the bad guy. But I knew that Emma Kelly would pitch one of her infamous fits, saying that she’s at my house more than her daddy’s house and she wants Leonardo to be with her. And I’d ultimately end up caving in and taking in that disease-laden, filthy turtle. And I would ultimately be the one taking care of that creepy little thing. And I also know that I would somehow end up loving or, at the very least, feeling sorry for that danged turtle. But the more I thought about it, the madder I got. Yet by the time the doorbell rang signaling my daughter’s return, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was about to become the keeper of a baby turtle.
So I opened the door and……….nothing.
And that’s my ex-husband’s sense of humor.
