My mom likes to talk to me about basketball and what she reads in the papers. We don’t watch television so fortunately I’m spared some of her stronger language.
As an avid basketball fan, my mom was stunned to learn that one of her favorite players, Diana Taurasi, was stopped on suspicion of driving under the influence of alcohol. But she’s furious with all the self-righteous columnists who are rushing to attack Diana.
“She’s innocent till proven guilty!” my mom exclaimed. “OK, she used very bad judgment when she got into a car after having a few drinks. But all these columnists want her to acknowledge her guilt and apologize. What do they think her lawyer would say?”
Apparently in the human world, you shouldn’t admit guilt. You don’t say anything that can be used against you.
Well, what’s so different in my world? When my mom hears the sound of crunchies being chewed in our kitchen, she immediately yells, “Gracie, stop!” Then she looks over and sees me, innocently napping in my bed. She realizes I’m not the guilty party. After all, Creampuff can attack a plate of cat food with great gusto, all out of proportion to her eight or nine pound self. Why assume I’m the one?
See, around here I get blamed for everything. When my mom realizes I’m innocent, does she apologize for disturbing my nap? No way. She just goes back to her computer. And I must admit the truth: one minute later I’m back to dreaming of my latest run in the park with my Aunt Sara.