In the Eye of the Beholder

Caleb has a toy snake. It's an orange colored, ugly looking thing with fangs, and it is squishy and rubbery in texture, almost like a real snake - at least I think that's what a real snake would feel like, if I ever actually touched and squished one. No, thanks.

The snake looks like a cobra. It's hideous.

Anyway, his father bought it for him. But you already knew that.

I hate that snake, I really do. I try to stay away from it, because it creeps me out just to look at it, much less to touch it, and on the rare occasion that I find the baby with it and must disentangle her chubby little fingers from the snake's squishy body or make her release her teething bite from the snake's fangs, well you can just imagine my JOY.

So this afternoon, I'm picking up the floor a little, and of course there is the snake, and I must touch it now, and it creeps me out yet again, and as I quickly toss it in a bin with the other toys, I can't help myself, but utter: "Eew, I don't like that snake."

Caleb is sitting at the other end of the room, doing one of his activities, but takes notice, looks up and says, "What? What did you say?" And I repeat, "I don't like that snake."

At which he speaks in his bright little voice, defending the shunned toy: "I like that snake! It's beautiful for me!!"

Well, who can argue with that? I guess, it's all in the eye of the beholder.