Do you see that Coke bottle in the picture above? It was bottled in Chattanooga, Tennessee in 1917, survived a hotel fire in Macon County, Tennessee in 1926 (the hotel was not so lucky), and managed to be dug from the earth by my husband who, while touring the old hotel grounds, spotted the tiniest portion of its neck poking above the dirt circa 1990s. Today, it met my son.
John-Heath came into my bathroom this morning with the bottle firmly grasping his middle finger. At first, I thought he was just holding it, playing some trick on me. But then I noticed the look on his face. It's a look we've seen a lot (like the time he got a coffee bean stuck up a nostril while we shopped at Wal-Mart or the time he got candle wax stuck up his other nostril because he sniffed a little too hard or the time he decided to spray paint little red dots on various items in my yard -including my house- and then decided that may not have been such a good idea, yadda, yadda, yadda...). Yes, my friends, the bottle had a hold of him and it wasn't letting go! In his defense, the opening to this bottle is a tad bit smaller than the openings on contemporary soft drink bottles.
My son's solution was simple...just break it. My reply to this was that I would just as soon cut off his finger before I broke that bottle. Of course, I would never have done that, but it didn't hurt anything making him think for a minute or two that that option was on the table.
In the end, a little warm, soapy water did the trick. Now the bottle has been tucked back into its proper place in a cabinet, alongside a postcard from the above-mentioned hotel, an old handheld desk bell from one of our county's former one-room schoolhouses, and a few other little trinkets. I would like to think it's safe from a repeat offense but we can't lock this particular cabinet anymore. John-Heath lost the key a few years ago.
1 comment:
Boys are always up to something, or at least mine is!
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