And no, not the little furry flying mammal. That would just be creepy.
No, she swung, in the living room, an actual baseball bat. In all his life I have never heard Johnny scream like that. Dammit! And I had to make a haircut appointment! Little bitch...
So I fly downstairs, and an amazing tear-fueled cluster-fuck is going on, and I can see dollar signs in the wife's eyes as she holds Johnny's mashed glasses (priorities, dontcha know) and Nat is seeing her life flash before her eyes as I descend like doom incarnate, and I check Johnny, and no blood, no petechial hemorrhage in the eyeball, pupils equal and reactive, just loads of boogers streaming, and...
"Get him to the eye doctor, now...fuck an appointment, move!" She moved. Nat had already retreated to her bed. She knew her future, like a fell Gypsy woman. And yes, I grabbed a shoe brush, and paddled her little fat pink butt cheeks still pinker. One solid whack per year old.
Finally, the wife and John came back home. He'll be fine. I put him in charge of his sister, in front of her. "She can get out of bed if you let her, buddy, but you decide..." Nat was a quivering heap of Jello, hiding under her covers. I had explained very carefully how her actions would affect the rest of her regretfully short life if she had blinded Johnny with her rank, careless stupidity.
John considered his power, for a moment, then was magnanimous in his mercy and forgiveness. I should have made her lick his feet, but that's just me.
And the best part? I made my haircut appointment with five minutes to spare! Aren't you excited?