The toy lives.
And as it lives, I suffer.
--Not from the knowledge that I intentionally let it fall to a demise by drowning
--Not from turning a blind eye as it bobbed up for air the third time
--Not from the notion that I am a mother who would let a noisy toy be destroyed by what seemed to be "only an accident."
No, I suffer for a different sort of reason.
I suffer because it lives.
It refused to die and now...NOW...talks in a high-pitched fast paced voice that is ten times more annoying then the first.
And that, my friends, is what I call a big drink of Irony.
And the irony is that they wrote better without access to my quotes.
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