My husband is a ho.
There, I’ve said it. He is a high-five ho.
He gives up his high-fives to Conor at the wink of an eye. You don’t even have to buy him a drink first.
Me, I don’t give up the high-five so easily, but Jimmy? He’ll high-five anytime Conor raises his little hand.
“The sky is blue!” Conor will raise his hand for a high-five and smack! There goes Jim, high-fiving him. Again.
“The rain is wet!” High-five.
“Conor went to the store and bought a calculator!” Smack.
“Conor DID buy Mommy a calculator for her birthday!” High-five.
“Conor is going to Port Discovery on Friday, November 25th.” Smack Smack. (Double high-five.)
Conor loves getting high fives. I don’t really remember when it started, but he’ll high-five you all day long if you let him. It’s like a Seinfeld episode, especially when Conor talks about himself in the third person at the same time. (Hey, pronouns are hard. Seriously, hard.)
“The Wii broke on August 24, 2011!” Double smack.
Sometimes Conor views the high-five as your handshake. He’s sealing the deal. Most of the time, I think he just loves the interaction. He definitely loves the attention. (It’s awesome when he and Aidan high-five each other goodnight.)
So what can I say? I’m picky. I’m choosy about when I high-five Conor. I have a little respect for myself. I want it to mean something.