All day Monday, my son carried around a pink rubber pig from the Dollar Bin at Target.
"PIG BOTTOM SHOW YOU HIS BOTTOM!" he would shout, shoving the pig's pink bottom in my face as I did work or wrote on my book, pretending to be very serious.
"AWESOME," I would answer. "PLEASE TELL PIG TO TAKE HIS BOTTOM ELSEWHERE."
I told Twitter about this phenomenon, and Twitter responded as expected.
Pics or it didn't happen.
So my reputation was on the line. I had to find him.
He was gone.
We spent two days looking for the elusive PIGBOTTOM.
me: Son, where is Pigbottom?
son: He is napping. He is HIDING.
me: Yes, but where is he napping and hiding?
son: Pigbottom does not know where he is. It is a secret.
me: Yes, but do you know?
son: NO. He won't tell me.
So what appeared in my face this morning?
"Where did you find him?" I asked.
"He find hisself," son said.
"Behind the bookshelf. Where he live. Pigbottom like books."
A pig after my own heart.