I don’t like pink!


Did I ever tell you about the pink sequin incident? The girls’ friend, Alexander, who they have known all their lives, twelve days older than them, was over playing a few weeks ago. There is usually some bossing around by Beenie and Alexander, though not really Mimi, but they all get along well and have a good time when they play. The ladies asked me to put on some “Ballet Music”, which refers either to a record of Chopin piano waltzes my mom gave me, or a CD of Handel waltzes their Grandmother Jean gave them. Put on the CD and went upstairs to pee. When I came back, Gayle (Alex’s mom) told me after I went upstairs, she and A watched in amazement as the girls simultaneously stripped and put on their crazy pink sequined tutu-riffic get-ups. They usually do this when the dancing music comes on. When I came down they were already twirling and floating around the middle room. Poor Alex was so overcome by the power of pink, he was rolling around on the ground, crying “I don’t like pink!” till he had to go upstairs to their room to be by himself. He had to physically remove himself from the diaphanous dancing pink cloud of estrogen. I can relate, Alexander. Though it’s not the pink fluff that gets me mad, just their pink fighting.

The girls have been great of late, though. Not sure if its them or me with the good attitude. Both. *

* One day later… this has been a long fucking week. Both girls sick. Not on their deathbeds, but sick enough to be at least as cranky as me. Which makes me REAL cranky.

* Now, the following week. Today has been a bitch of a day. Mimi has been a real piece of work. Extremely defiant, bless her little heart. But not cool when she’s simultaneously fucking with her sister, who clearly isn’t feeling so well. Beenie is still getting over her scourge, good in the mornings, but starts fading quickly in late afternoon. Snotty, lackluster. I should probably take her to the doctor tomorrow. Or not. It is hard to tell sometimes. I’ll see how things are looking after their mid-day “parent/teacher conferences”. Isn’t it weird to have one of those (or two) for three year olds? I mean, I love hearing about my kids as much as the next person, it just seems early, that’s all. What the hell do I know.

I’m gonna publish this shits or it will never happen.

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2 Comments

  1. I don’t like pink, either, but I never thought of going into convulsions about it. Did he maybe think the concerto was by Pink?
    The worst part about writing down the children’s happenstances, I’ve found, is that it jinxes every single moment. Oh, something is going well and you’d like to celebrate it? Sorry. You wrote it down. Tomorrow will be ungodly. Oh, you’re feeling like you might have some control? Sorry. Tomorrow will be scourges and demons and incessant weather and plumbing fiascos. Or some such.
    Glad you had some good times, a pox on your bad times. Hope everyone is better and happy this week.

  2. That’s how the fellas used to react to Shangri-La too. Only James Edgar could withstand the pinkness — he reveled in it! More power to the pink!

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