The Butler of the Month

My running joke when people ask how Otis is doing is to say, “He is great! He doesn’t have parents. He has butlers.” Because I kind of do everything for him because that’s how I roll, and Mark just has to deal with it? Yeah…

{Insert lecture about how I’m the reason he’s behind in everything. Yes. I get it. I suck.}

Well, the other day Otis wasn’t feeling too great and he asked Mark for some milk which Mark happily fetched for him.

Otis didn’t like the milk. So he held it up for Mark to take back. He wanted juice instead.

Otis wasn’t feeling great. Mark obliged and brought a cup of juice.

Otis wasn’t happy with the juice and HELD IT OUT AGAIN. Like he had incorrectly taken my joke about butlers seriously.

Seriously, just held the cup up like, “You know what to do.”

Mark was behind Otis like:

And I was obviously like:

Because I was pretty sure my kinda sick son was going to get a smack down.

BUT IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!

MARK LET HIM LIVE!

Instead Mark got another cup of juice and gave it to our master son.

We waited….

It had been accepted!!

Otis was going to drink the juice!

And then I said to my husband, the man that prides himself on never caving to Otis or encouraging the spoiled behavior I’ve been accused of creating:

“Well, if you keep this level of service of up you’re SURE to be Butler of the Month!”

And that is the story of the time my son escaped death, and The Poor Mom got one on the hubs.

2.

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