Stepping out of the shower this morning, towel wrapped around my head, I heard the low, thundering, now-familiar rumble of sibling angst echoing down the hallway. It didn’t sound dangerous, so I took my time getting dressed, hoping that when I finally emerged from the steamy refuge of my inner sanctum, the combatants would have called a cease-fire and agreed on terms.
Alas. Though I couldn’t make out actual words, the volume and tenor of the gathering storm told me that things were escalating. Sighing, I opened the door and stepped into the fray, only to hear Caleb shout with conviction: “I don’t WANT to be a spy, Katie!” before huffily stomping past me to join his Backyardigans confederates where they were singing and dancing in the living room.
His desertion was duly noted by the older sister in question, who flew in his wake, nearly knocking me over as she hurled this loud and plaintive retort down the hall after him: “But you have to, Caleb! If you don’t accept the mission, my cover will be totally blown!”
I found out later that I was the subject of this hush-hush surveillance project.
Secret Agent Katie missed a few days of spy school, I think. Like the one where they learned about volume control.