Walking in the door from work, my lovely wife shows me a little brown stuffed horse that she purchased for Jonah.
Apparently, despite Jonah having no interest in stuffed toys to my knowledge, when in the post office sending a baptism gift to our friends in Coffs, Jonah took a liking to this horse.
Granted, it is the only animal he can imitate the sound of well, so perhaps it made him feel good about himself, hard to say at 17 months old. However, Jonah wanted the horse, so heaven knows, he got the horse.
My wife says “babe, I want you and Jonah to name the horse together”. Easy enough task I guess, so take on the challenge.
Some time passed, and as I was bathing Jonah, I announced “we will name the horse, Hairy the Horse”. No real reason, except it starts with a H, and Mr Ed wouldn’t make sense for some time yet. As well, he is struggling with basic words like cat, dog, car, so Mr Ed may have been a stretch. Hairy, at least I thought could be not so far away.
“Babe, we have called the horse Hairy the Horse” I muse proudly.
“That’s awful” my wife says. Why don’t we call him Henry.
So, of course, we have a pet horse now, called Henry.
Does make me wonder why men in marriages still think, albeit for a split second, that we have any decision making ability left.