This morning, on the way to school, they got into a fight in the backseat of the car. Like, a honest-to-god struggle.
I was sorta concerned.
But honestly, I was torn.
On the one hand, I don’t want my children (both real and imaginary) fighting. Especially not coming to fisticuffs in the car. On the other hand, I was kinda interested in seeing how my daughter handled herself if she had to get down with the get down. I’m not always going to be around for her if she’s gotta scrap and she didn’t take to Tae Kwon Do so I’m concerned that she don’t have them hands.
Ultimately, it was an overall disappointment.
Turns out, the fight was over who got to hug whom and how many hugs were sufficient. Apparently they reached an agreement on the hugs and hugged it out for the rest of the ride to school. That’s right, a hug-fight. A hug-fight with an imaginary brother. A hug-fight with an imaginary brother in which I picked a side. A hug-fight with an imaginary brother in which I picked a side and rationalized why I should go with the side I picked.
I dedicated brain function and emotion to wishing harm on an imaginary little boy that I’m erstwhile related to.
Then I accidentally slammed the car door on his hand which upset my daughter even more.
This imaginary muhfucka needs to get it together.