Slippy SlopePosted: April 16, 2014
“He buttered his bread so now he’s got to sleep in it,” I heard Mom exclaim from the living room.
I poked my head through the kitchen door and asked, “Who’s sleeping with bread?”
“That guy. You know, the one in Washington,” she replied, as though I’d be able to figure out which inept elected official or under qualified political appointee she was talking about.
“Who do you mean?” I asked. “Someone on TV?”
“He was a few minutes ago, while I was talking to Jimmy. He got caught lying and now he’s trying to back pedal, but he can’t.”
“Who, Jimmy?” I asked.
“No, not him, the guy on TV.”
“Lie about what?”
“About being part of the conspiracy. You know. The big one.”
“Oh, right,” I responded, although I didn’t have a clue what she as talking about. “That big one. That guy. Yup, he sure stepped in it.”
“You just never know,” she concluded with a knowing nod. “It’s a slippy slope and sometimes you can’t run even if you try to hide.”
I retreated back into the kitchen, like a turtle pulling into its protective shell. Maybe if I’m really quite, I thought to myself, I can run and hide.