Friday, October 7, 2011
People are starting to tell me that Sadie looks like me. I haven't been able to see it.
Sadie insisted on bringing "her" Ann Taylor Loft bag to the park with us today. What's in it? Two old iPod's that don't work (RIP Steve Jobs), 2 golf balls, a sippie cup with water in it, a snack (goldfish), and a pretend cookie from her kitchen set.
Who doesn't go to the park with all of those things in tow? More importantly, who wouldn't put them in a Loft bag and then go down the slide holding it all aloft. (Ha! No pun intended.) This is so my daughter, I can't even tell you. If you saw the random shit in my purse you would cancel the DNA test. When I was at my sister's wedding, 15 minutes before the ceremony started, Caroline said she was starving and needed a snack. Her capable wedding coordinator pulled out some Ritz crackers (where's the spray cheese, Mary Margaret Wedding Planner?), which Caroline ate while bending over at a 90 degree angle to keep her Carolina Herrera dress from getting any errant salt on it. Well, if you know anything about a Ritz cracker, then you know what happened next. Yes, Caroline declared, with all earnestness, she was dying of thirst. So, someone fetched a bottle of water.
What about her lipstick. We can't have her slurping up the H TWO OH before she professes her love for her bridegroom in St. Rita's Church. We needed a straw. Does anyone have a straw?
Guess who comes to the rescue as big sister with the big purse? Me. That's who. Not only did I have a straw in my purse, (It was my pink leather purse from Florence, Italy, that I recently gave to Good Will.), that straw was left over from the last time I used that purse, which was about 2 weeks prior at my roommate's bachelorette party in Chicago. So, yes, the straw was shaped like a penis. It was pink, like our bridesmaids' dresses, but yes, there was a circumcised penis on the tip, but you know what, beggars can't be choosers and when you decide to eat a starchy, salty cracker before you say your vows, you might have to suck a little dick on the way.
Sorry. It's true.
Or it was that fine day in June 2004. I will say my mother turned a very ghostly shade of white when I pulled the straw out. For some reason she didn't think that the anteroom of a Catholic Church was the place for a penis straw. I am pretty sure I made a joke about pedophilic priests right then and there, which most likely accounts for the somewhat chilly relations between me and my mother for the rest of that night.
It was totally worth it. If I can't win a new donkey on let's make a deal, then I want to pull out a penis straw in the church of my youth to help out my sister who was daft enough to eat a Ritz cracker right before the freaking Wedding March.
So, yea, Sadie's my kid.