“And tell us when the bad parts are over so we can open our eyes,” Ariel said.
“And what’s this documentary about?”
“A guy posted videos of himself doing horrific things to cats, and the internet hunted him down,” Presley said.
“You want me to watch graphic animal cruelty so you don’t have to? Is that right?” I asked.
“Almost. We want you to watch that part, so we can watch the internet get pissed and win,” Presley said.
“If it’s not triggering content for you,” Ariel added. “It is for me and Mom.”
“Fine,” I sighed overdramatically. “I guess. But there better be popcorn or equally delicious snacks.” I didn’t exactly want to watch someone hurt animals, but I could handle watching it, especially in the context they were describing.
“We just ate,” Presley said.
“Yes, but I’m a stress eater.”
I wokewith the feeling that someone was staring at me. Slowly opening my eyes, I almost screamed when I saw Sir Pickles von Gherkin inches from my face, staring at me with a look of displeasure.
“Presley!” I yelled, hoping to wake her without scaring her. When I got no response, I yelled her name a bit louder. “Presley!”
My loud voice must have upset Sir Pickles von Gherkin, because he lifted his head and opened his mouth as he puffed a very dark beard at me.
“Ariel!” I shouted. “Presley! I’m in a bit of a pickle here!”
“Ink?” Presley called, sounding too far away. “What’s going on out there?”
“Nothing to be scared of. Just an angry-looking dragon sitting on my chest, staring at me. Are you sure he doesn’t bite?”
“No, he doesn’t bite,” Presley assured me, the sound of her voice getting closer.
“He’s moving,” I said urgently. “What? What are you doing? He’s wiggling. Why is he wiggling? Oh, fuck! He bloody shat on me. Sweet mother, that’s foul. Like really foul. You’re gonnahave to hurry. I’m cool with a lot of shit, but this is … holy shit, Presley! Your daughter’s pet dragon has shit a mound so big it’s lifted his ass higher than his head.”
“Sir Pickles!” Ariel scolded and carefully plucked her dragon from his new throne. “I’m so sorry, Ink. He’s never gotten out of his enclosure before.”
“Does he always shit that much? Seriously, what are you feeding him?”
“He has a salad every day and bugs twice a week,” Ariel said.
“Ah, fiber. That explains it.”
“Let me get that before you try to get up,” Presley said and snatched the massive mound of lizard poop from my chest in one swift move. Seconds later, she held up a knotted plastic bag.
“How did you do that?” I asked as I held my shirt away from my chest and got to my feet.
“Nurse skills,” she said. “If you’ll give me your shirt, I’ll toss it in the wash.” I carefully pulled my shirt over my head and handed it to Presley.
“I’m really sorry, Ink,” Ariel said again.
“No worries, kiddo. You didn’t shit on me. But if you ever do, I’ll expect more than a simple apology. Food would be a good start.”
“Got it. I can shit on you, and all will be forgiven if I bring you Rocky Mountain oysters.”
I laughed. “You’re clever. I’ll be more specific next time.”
“What is happening right now?” Presley asked.
“I’m giving your kid shit about giving me shit,” I said and reached for my keys. “I think I have another shirt in my truck. I’ll be right back.”
