So, I think I really need to make plans to go to Chi-Town.
Seriously, with copy like this, I’m inclined to stalk the hell out of Mimi just so I can give her daughter the skull and crossbones mini purse I knitted. Then we can do tequila shots:
On the other hand, a woman with true class (in the etiquette-book, not socioeconomic, sense of the word) would probably not have taught her flu-stricken daughter to lick her wrist and then throw back the little cup of cough medicine like a tequila shot. Four-year-old Nora’s dose is now too big for the baby syringe, and during this last illness I got tired of her taking eensy sip after eensy sip while complaining about the taste. So I demonstrated the proper technique with salt and my own wrist and a shot glass of water, and told her that “this is how people quickly drink something that tastes bad.” (But tequila tastes GOOD! protested my brain. Be quiet brain, we’re trying to parent over here.) Nora is a sucker for procedures and processes, so she learned the routine and now knocks ’em back like a big girl. We skip the lime, that’s just empty vitamins.
Mimi Smartypants would think that last comment I made on the previous post was damn funny.
And Amy, well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to go to her place, eat breakfast, drink tea and color each other’s hair. Also, she could teach me the art of lipstick application, which, despite a stint at the drugstore cosmetic counter in high school, I’ve never seemed to master. Staying power, that’s what I’m talking about.