They better give the marketing guy a raise.

And that, dear readers, is how Carrot ended up explaining what a douche was to Beta Unit, in front of her mother, at Thanksgiving.

Outer Limits

(scene opens in dim kitchen, Carrot on the floor holding screaming Delta)

Delta: (winding down to hiccuping sobs)

Me: You okay now?

Delta: (tearful nod) I just wan’ help.

Me: Honey, mom can’t help you with that. I don’t know how.

Delta: (tearing up) Make it so I can do it.

Me: (fraying sanity) Baby, I’ve never been able to solve a Rubik Cube. I want to help you but I can’t. I legitimately don’t know how!

Delta: (dissolves into wails of hopeless unending sadness)

Me: (closes eyes, rocks screaming toddler, practices deep breathing)

(pounding growing louder off stage)

Gamma: MOM! HELP ME! (Gamma runs through kitchen to bathroom, sounds of sick echoing off porcelain)

Me: (sighs, rolls weeping toddler off lap) Welp, at least this is something I can take care of.

(cue laugh track, fade to black, cut to car commercial)

Inner Conflict

(scene opens in tossed parlor)

Me: (sitting at embroidery frame) Ready for school?

Beta: (struggling into jacket) Yeah. What day is it?

Me: Thursday. Do you have Robotics Club tonight?

Beta: (thinks) Yeah. I do. Y’know what? Today is not only Robotics Club, but Knitting Club and Anime club. All on the same day!

Me: That’s usually how it goes.

Beta: (deep dramatic sigh) It’s so hard being a nerd like me. (nods once, exits)

They know a thing, too.

(scene opens at cluttered table)

Alpha: I need help finding references on how alcohol affects the body.

Me: Look up Betty Ford Clinic.

Alpha: Says page is denied.

Me: The school laptop won’t let you look up Betty Ford Clinic? That’s absurd. You can look it up on my computer and use it as a reference.

Alpha: But she’ll think I’m making it up if we can’t pull it up on a school computer.

Me: Trust me, the teachers will know what the clinic is and who Betty Ford is.

Innate knowledge

(scene opens in cluttered parlor)

Gamma: (shrieking) MOM! BETA IS CALLING ME A LOSER.

Me: (resignedly enters the room, sees Beta with thumb on either side of his head, single finger raised like horns) Beta?

Beta: (waggles hands) I’m not calling her a loser, I’m pretending to be a moose.

Gamma: (moar shrieking) THOSE ARE ‘L’s! ‘L’s MEAN LOSER!

Me: (inhales deeply, stares in Ron Swanson) That’s not a moose. You need all your fingers for moose horns.

Beta: (processes, opens both hands) I’m a moose!

Gamma: (quick reversal) YOU’RE A MOOSE! MOOSE! MOOSE! MOOSE!

Me: (contemplates the absurdity of her existence, exits stage left)