Thanks for Your Concern

A few minutes ago, Shrike and Peeper (and the dogs) were playing in the office, while I fixed myself some lunch.

I was headed toward the office to wait on the microwave, when the highchair jumped out and threw itself right in front of my pinkie toe. As I clipped it, it slammed against the wall making a big noise.

I then followed with several more big noises, as I slammed my hand against the wall and cursed. Loudly. And repeatedly. Because that makes it feel better.

I could hear Shrike saying, soothingly, "Shhh, it's okay. . ." much too quietly to be addressing me, so then I felt kind of like a jerk for scaring the baby.

After I'd pulled myself together, I said, pointedly "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

Shrike said, "I could tell what happened, so it seemed superfluous to ask."

"Well," I said indignently, "You could've asked if I was okay."

"Why?" she said, "It was obvious you weren't."

PS: Oh, and I hadn't frightened Peeper at all with my banging around. Just PerfectPup. For a dog, she's kind of a pussy.