liquid courage

I’m thirsty.

No, I’m not stranded in the desert. I’m sitting in the comfort of my air-conditioned home with plenty of beverage options. We have milk, multiple Pepsi products, apple, orange, and grape juices, tea and coffee, plus good old-fashioned water. Heck, I could even pull out my infusion pitcher and add some strawberries to dress up that tap water a bit. I’m not lacking in things to drink, I’m just afraid to pour myself a glass.

Philip has become interested in the study of gravity’s effect on liquids. When I say it like that, it seems so noble. He’s being scientific.

Unfortunately, it’s a less noble thought that stops me from popping the tab on a Wild Cherry Pepsi: Philip is being a pain in the ass.

Philip has poured every possible beverage on the floors, tables, and us over the last month. Peter and I now chug and hug our drinks as if they were the last liquids on earth. We hide half-empty mugs in places we hope Philip can’t reach. We stash partial cans of Dr Pepper in the back of the fridge behind foods he won’t touch. Vigilance is imperative. On Sunday, when I left a tumbler unattended on my desk, Philip dumped its water on my laptop. Since that incident, I’ve just been going without.

It’s not only potables that pique Philip’s interest. When we cleaned the fish tank two weekends ago, I was in charge of capturing the fish and putting them in a bucket. And watching Philip. The last two fish were especially fast and refraction wasn’t helping me net them. I was staring intently at the aquarium when I heard a splash beside me. Philip had tipped over the bucket. I quickly grabbed flopping, gasping fish off the carpet. I yelled; Philip squealed with delight.

Our poor dog is suffering, too. Philip loves to pour out Roscoe’s water bowl. He also enjoys studying surface tension by adding bits of kibble to the water and watching them float. I either have to leave the water dish dry or move it behind a closed door. Even if I leave it accessible for Roscoe, Philip always leaves it empty. It’s lose-lose for the dog.

Because of Philip’s experimentation, I can’t even relax and consume a cola when he is in another room. Left unattended, he seeks out the easiest source of water in the house: the toilet. Last week, I arrived home to find the ceiling of our master bath looking like that of a boy’s reformatory. Philip discovered that he could wet the toilet paper and fling it up. Tissue wads now dangle from the ceiling and decorate the walls. We went through three rolls in as many days. Also, he decided that our tooth-brush holder was an ideal scoop. When I later found the missing toothbrushes on his bedroom floor, I threw them away. I wanted to burn them first, but I knew if I they had previously soaked in eau de toilette it was too late for me anyway.

Oh, crap. Wait – I should be happy it ISN’T crap.

I hope with nicer weather that I can take Philip out to splash and pour in his plastic pool to get this experimentation out of his system. I’m letting him linger at bath time so he can float toys to his heart’s content. Of course, when he’s accepting his Nobel Prize, maybe I’ll look back on these times with appreciation. Right now, I’d rather not have to say, “Don’t put your foot in the toilet!” ever again.

It’s enough to drive me to drink.