Magoo does most of his crazy while he’s asleep. I won’t get into the details, considering his closest friends and mortal enemies are all old enough to read this. But if he’s gonna do something insane, there’s a 95.3% chance it will happen while he’s asleep.
The other night I go to his room to kiss his cheek. Don’t tell him I do this because he is violently opposed to kisses in all their varieties. In fact, come to think of it, maybe the sleeping night kisses I’ve been sneaking in are driving him to madness. Hmmm… Not enough of a deterrent.
Any-who, I can’t make it to his bed that night because the trundle underneath is pulled all the way out, essentially filling the floor of his entire room. I try to step on it but it creaks and I don’t want to wake him. So I decide to close it up.
I push the trundle bed in but it only goes half way. So, I push harder. It still won’t budge. Frustrated, I put my weight into it, ramming it again and again but it only goes in a few more inches. So, I decide my lips will probably stretch far enough and I can reach over and kiss him.
It’s really dark in the room and I’m leaning over the half-out trundle, feeling around for his fluffy hair on the bed. He’s not there. Panicked, I turn on the light. Magoo is nowhere.
Then it occurs to me that something must have been blocking the trundle. I slowly pull it back out and peer under the bed. Eyes. Staring at me. Confused. Magoo is curled up under his bed, clutching his blanket and looking dazed. He probably is. From the head trauma.
We’ve all heard of shaken baby syndrome, but is there a term for that thing, where you bludgeon your 7-year-old repeatedly with the base of his trundle bed? That’s what Magoo has. I should start a non-profit in his honor.