Napolean

My parents brought over Napolean yesterday…
For those of you who don’t know him, he’s an incredibly intelligent Dachshund who deeply perturbs you when you initially introduce yourself.  

“Hey little man!” ~YOU

“Who the fuck is this guy?” ~NAPOLEAN

 

My mother will accidentally call him “Lawrence” or “didi”, names that were given to me at birth, now loosely thrown at this black animal (yes I’m being racist), who only sun bathes and does nothing but.  

I’ve become slightly envious.

Stories of his bad behavior are centralized topics at the dinner table:

“Your mom cooked so much food.  He found his way onto the table and ate all of it in a matter of seconds.” ~GARY KAO

“Your dad couldn’t sleep last night.  Napolean kept complaining downstairs because no one would sleep with him.” ~AMY KAO

 

Nonetheless, my parents find a way, supernaturally easily, to turn his crimes into nothing less than modest incorruption.

Example: 

“I used my Subway coupons and bought a bunch of footlongs.  Napolean ate all of them while I wasn’t looking.” ~GARY KAO

        Retorts:  “Wow, he has a really big appetite.”
                         “It’s okay.  Subway is really healthy.” 

 

Interestingly enough, Gary and Amy Kao aren’t raising Napolean to be or think a specific way.  They’re simply teaching him how to be himself.

and Napolean is fucking happy.
and I am fucking happy.  

It is all about perspective.
I don’t know where my parents got it from, but they have a good one.

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