Terminator

One evening, I was watching Terminator 2 on Netflix. I had the most unbearable earache and decided to turn it off with about an hour left to go to bed.

The next afternoon, we were having a lazy day. Your mom was crocheting on the couch, and you two were bouncing back and forth between playing with toys and watching your iPads. I figured it was the perfect time to finish the movie, so I told your mom, “I’m going to the other room to finish Terminator 2.”

I laid down on the loveseat, started the movie, and about twenty minutes in, Zoey, you wandered in and snuggled up next to me.

“I think this movie might be a little inappropriate,” I said, glancing at the screen.

“I don’t care,” you replied without missing a beat.

On the screen, there was a chase scene between the T-800 and the T-1000. You tilted your head up at me and asked, “What’s going on?”

“There’s a bad robot, and he’s trying to get the good robot,” I explained.

“Which one is the bad robot?” you asked.

“That one,” I said, pointing.

“And he’s chasing the good robot?”

“Yes.”

“And which one is the good robot?”

“That one,” I answered, pointing again.

Satisfied, you went quiet for a bit, watching intently. Then the T-1000 turned his finger into a sword and stabbed Sarah Connor right through the shoulder. She screamed, blood dripping everywhere.

“Okay, Zoey,” I said. “You’re going to have to get out now.”