Last night I watched the Intern experience an emotion that I haven’t seen in him before: blinding white-hot soul-searing rage. It made me smile.
The boy had crawled up to our wine rack and reached in and grabbed one of the bottles. The door to the cabinet was latched closed from the inside, so the boy could grab a bottle but then not pull it out. This infuriated him. The Intern is generally a smiley, happy baby, so it was great to see something different from him: black hatred for that wine rack door. I am pretty sure now that the lad is not blessed with pyrokinesis, or else that rack would have certainly burst into flames already. I was also happy (and a little bit sad) that the rage didn’t turn him into a small Incredible Hulk and he didn’t just rip the offending door off the rack and break it over his knee. Oh well, I’m sure he’s got something going for him, we’ll just have to figure out what.
