It’s hard to imagine anything cuter than a dirty, diaper-clad, slobbery tot riding his plastic duck around the backyard sandbox.
But don’t be fooled by the placid cuteness of the scene. Months later I was riding that same duck around the kitchen floor when it took me a little too close to the momentarily un-gated and un-Mom-guarded stairs. Down I rode in a spinning, yellow dervish of speed and fear. My head hit the banister and left a scar that graces my hairline to this day.
Yes that little, yellow duck may look innocent enough.
But he mustn’t have like me getting him all dirty.
And so he got his revenge.