Why?

As I turn the faucet on, Simon appears at my elbow.

“What are you doing?”

I answer cheerfully, “I’m getting a glass of water, because I’m thirsty.  What are you doing?”

He blurts out, cutting off the end of my question, “Why?”

I stare at him, unsure of the answer he wants to hear.

He stares back at me, then gives me a maniacal laugh, and runs off.

I am no longer so certain that his daily, inexorable  siege against my sanity is as innocently unintentional as I had thought.

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