Living with two little girls means that there is much conversation in the upper registers. This is fine until somebody gets tired or cranky or put upon, and then the upper register becomes the stratosphere, a sound so high that it’s just under that sound only dogs can hear, an earsplitting whine of equal parts outrage and entitlement that would make you put a spike through your head except that the sound already did that for you.
Then one day, during a particularly bad whine, I said, “That sound reminds me of something.”
“Hell?” Lani said.
“No,” I said. “I think . . . it’s meeping.”
You know. Meeping: Continue reading