Henry hobbled around the kitchen this morning and instead of looking like a toddler, he reminded me of an old war veteran with stiff knees. That’s when I realized he had a small piece of raison bread stuck to the bottom of his foot.
“Henry,” I said. “Is there bread on your foot?”
“Bread, foot,” he said.
“Let’s put the bread in the trash,” I told him.
Ignoring my suggestion, he stared at me. Then he peeled the piece of bread from the bottom of his barefoot and shoved the food into his mouth.
“Or you can put it in your mouth,” I replied.
That’s when he took the disgusting glob of bread out of his mouth, placed it on the ground, and for the second time of the morning, stepped on it.
“Ah,” I said. “So that’s how you got it to stick.”
He smiled and went back to his hobbling.