I am being held captive, though I am only now realizing this. My captor speaks with a slow childish drawl. He seems to have problems pronouncing his words, except for the word 'candy'. I can make that one out very clearly. He can count, “1, 5, 3, 4". While trying to get ready for the day this morning, my hostage taker insisting he follow me down the stair, apparently there wasn’t enough time to finish getting ready. “Go!” He demanded, trying to turn my body to face down the stairs. “Walk!” I wasn’t sure if he meant I should start walking, or he was going to walk. “Ifford!” He demanded once down to the TV room. “Time out or ask nicely!” I rebutted. “Ifford, please.” While he took his seat. I pressed the play button on the DVD player. He immediately jumped up, pushed me into the kitchen. “Stay!” he barked. He returned to the TV room. I peered around the corner to spy him dancing to the Clifford, The Big Red Dog, intro song. The coast was clear. I quietly crept past the room and made my way back upstairs to finish getting ready.
My captor is about 2.5 feet and waddles when he walks. Most strangers think he is really cute; he can be charming when absolutely needed. He is prone to whining fits, has a good throwing arm (I am always amazed at how far he can throw his food), he can climb tall buildings, I think. He eats cookies partially then tries to put them back. If you see the man who help to make my captor (he looks alot like my captor but much larger and without the waddle), please tell him his wife needs a long vacation without the “cute” captor.
