I Have Been Diagnosed

My six-year-old has a name for it

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Last night, my six-year-old son informed me that I have a mysterious illness called Grumpyadultamariophobia.

And my crime? I threw an empty kitchen tissue roll into the trash bin. I thought it was a waste. It wasn’t his toy or anything of sentimental value. Just an empty cardboard tube.

“How exactly do you get this disease?” I asked him.

“You get it if you take something from your children and put it in the garbage bin without their knowledge or permission. That’s how you get it,” he said.

The Gen Alpha doctor wore a grave expression while delivering the diagnosis. Neither a prescription nor any cure mentioned.

Apparently, he had plans. Plans that existed entirely in his mind. Plans I wasn’t briefed about — playing with it, and also building a telescope. In future.

I have been living with this condition ever since.