The Green Thing

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“Oh come on,” Hubs said. “He didn’t eat a plastic tree.”

“Well, they do all appear to still be here,” I said dubiously after inspecting a small pile of plastic trees on the kitchen counter.

“It was probably an M&M.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe it was that green cough syrup we have. Wal-Tussin!” I was starting to get shrill.

“That’s upstairs,” Hubs said. “That’s not even down here.”

“I’m just saying.”

“It may have been one of those candy coated sunflower seeds,” Hubs offered.

“Or it may have been one of those leaves on our peace plant,” I shrieked. “That thing’s toxic, you know! I read about it!”

“And that’s why he’s never been in the sunroom,” Hubs replied. “He’s going to be fine, okay? Will you go?”

“Check the prescription medication!” I squealed. “Doesn’t one of these things have green pills?” I said, rummaging through a few bottles we had on the kitchen counter. No green pills here. I thought for a minute.

“Soylent green … ” I muttered. “It’s people, you know.” I shot Hubs an angry glare. “People!”

“He did not. Eat. Soylent. Green.” Hubs sighed. “He’s going to be fine, okay? Go write.”

And that’s what I did, with many a backward glance at Bruiser as I left. He did seem to be okay, stumbling merrily across the kitchen with a plastic water bottle in one hand and Hubs’s cell phone in the other. But I couldn’t stop thinking about my poor, green-faced baby as I sat at Starbucks. How was I supposed to write when my son was sitting at home with a mystery item in his digestive tract? What could I possibly, possibly write about?