Excuse me while I move some files from the Word Press site over here so I can delete that thing forever. If you didn't see this before, now's your chance!
Previously published 1/9/2010
(This isn't us but I could be the dad ... except I have hair.)
So today in Target, I asked Wild Thing #1, my 8-year-old, what should we get Mrs. Snarky Basterd for her birthday?
Silverware, he says.
No way, dude, I say. You don’t get your mom silverware for her birthday; you have to get something for her.
A book, he says, matter of factly, as if he’s got it all in stride, as if to say, dad, you are so square.
Okay. Now you’re thinking, I say. A book about what? I’m looking for inspiration here, really. I know what she wants. I just want to know how far Wild Thing #1 is willing to go for her.
He gives me silence. So we walk a bit. We are on a mission … the girls went to the shoe display; the dudes went to the food display. Hey, man: It’s cold out, we’re on a quest. We’re headed to the soup aisle, in search of copious cans of New England Clam Chowwwda.
Once we find the soup aisle, Wild Thing #1 lets lose a whammy: Let’s get her an exercise video.
Dude, you don’t get your mom an exercise video for her birthday; it says she’s fat, I say, sagely.
The two ladies also in the soup aisle look at me like I’m John Lennon and burst out laughing. I give them a knowing look and flash them a cheshire grin and turn back to Wild Thing #1.
But my little innocent looks up, completely in earnest, and says: But dad, she wants to start running again.
Trust me, I say, knowing I’m saving him from losing a week’s worth of allowance. She doesn’t want an exercise vid for her birthday. I’m teaching you well, dude, and you’ll remember this one day. When you’re wondering what to get for your own girl.