Friday, June 23, 2017

lyrical opposition

"I've figured it out!!" I exclaim.

"You have?  That's great!" says David.

"Figured what out?" asks Rissa.

"It's 'take-a-chance, take-a-chance, take-a-take-a-chance-chance!"

"Runh?" from Rissa.  

His interest now piqued, David stops mid-sandwich prep.

I clarify. "I'm playing ABBA on repeat in the car. I've never been able to sing along with the boys' part for "Take a Chance on Me." So I was listening really hard today and I've got it.  And though it seems as if it's 'take-a-chance, take-a-chance, take-a-chance-chance-chance' in actuality it's not 'chance-chance-chance.' There's another syllable in the phrase and only two 'chances'.  It's 'take-a-chance, take-a-chance, take-a-take-a-chance-chance'! "


David and Rissa are looking at me like I'm nuts. Disbelieving eyebrows grace David's forehead. "Nu-unh," he says.  "It's 'take-a-chance, take-a-chance, chick-a-chick-a-chance-chance.' "

I take a moment to try it out his way.  "Yeah, it works rhythmically, but why would it be 'chick-a-chick-a-chance-chance'? There's no 'k' in 'chance'."

David is stymied for a moment.  He immediately googles the song.

"It would be if chicken were singing the song," Rissa pipes in.

The sounds of ABBA fill the kitchen. We all close our eyes and listen, tilting our heads to one side, ensuring complete comprehension of syllables.  After a couple of verses we turn it off.

"It could be either/or," I say.

"Yeah," says David.  "Take-a and chick-a are very similar."

"Don't discount if chickens are singing it," says Rissa.




Thoughts?

Friday, June 16, 2017

how to raise a diva

A beautiful child is ahead of me in line at the Big Box store. She is approximately 7 years of age, dark hair, striking blue eyes.  Freaking adorable.  I find myself inclined to smile simply because of her incandescent beauty.  And then I hear her scream/whine this:

"I want TWO Kinder eggs!!!"  

The tone immediately pulls back my parental shoulders and raises my mommy eyebrows. I take a calming breath.

Don't say anything Heather.  Don't say ANYTHING.  Not your kid.  She is NOT your kid.  Maybe the adult will parent-up. 

I wait patiently.  The dad has yet to reply.

He's going to make a good choice. He's got this.

"But sweetie you already have one Kinder egg."

"I want TWO Kinder eggs!!!"

"Now sweetie, what did I just say?"

"I want TWO Kinder eggs!!!"

"Well, you'll have to ask your mother..."

She'll have to...? Did that motherfucker just do what I thought he did? Did he just fucking pass THE PARENTAL BUCK?!? 

"Mummy!  MUMMY!!!"

"What is it sweetie?"

In a slightly less whiny tone. "I want TWO Kinder eggs." No 'please,'  no 'May I have?" 

"You already have a Kinder egg."

"But. I. WANT. TWO!!!!"

I make eye contact with another parent waiting in a line one till to my right.  We are 1980s Cold War spies.  We both give almost imperceptible head shakes.  Present etiquette restricts our ability to act. As long as those parents are not physically or verbally abusing that child in front of us we keep our mouths shut.

"But you already have one sweetie."  

The mother is calm.  She won't cave.

"But I want TWO!!!"

"Well, allllllllll right, you pick out one more, but just one..."

What the fuck just happened? Our Cold War spy duo has now become a trio with another parent from the line to my left.  You could cut diamonds with our glances. Without saying a word we all know that if that were our child she would not be leaving that store with ANY Kinder Eggs.

Instead, the pocket-sized prima donna rushes to the candy shelf. "Yay!  Barbie Kinder egg!"

Now the father pipes up, "You can have the toy....but I get to eat the chocolate from the second one."

"But I WANT the chocolate too!"

"You'll have enough chocolate with your own egg sweetie," says the mother.

"But I. WANT. IT!!!"

"Oh well, we'll see..."

Oh yeah - this kid's going to be a joy when she's a teenager.








Thursday, June 1, 2017

anatomy lessons for aging birds

I do a double-take as I open my elbow. Since when does the skin there look like a plucked chicken?  Like a really old, plucked chicken? Freaking ANCIENT.

"Whoa!  What the....? EEEEEEEEEEEW!"

"What are you doing?" asks Rissa.

"Look at this skin!"

"What about it?"

"My inside elbow looks 90!"

"No it does not."

"Sure easy for you to say, your inside elbow looks like a spring chicken."

Inside elbow.  That sounds awkward. Crook? Inbow? Elbow Pit? Does it have an actual name?  Like a Latin name?  And now I need to know what it's really called so that my irrational haranguing over it can have gravitas.  

It strikes me that if the skin on the outside of your elbow is colloquially called the 'wenis' that would mean that the skin of the inside elbow is dubbed the...

"WAGINA!!!"

Rissa emphatically says NO.

I show her the skin of my elbow.  "Wenis."

wenis

Then rotate my arm so that the interior really old plucked chicken elbow skin is on view. "Wagina."


wagina
 "NO."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Wenis."  Rotate arm.  "Wagina."

"NO.  You're ridiculous."

I feel my logic is sound.

"Fine.  I'll look it up."

Ladies and germs I give you the cubital fossa.



"Fossa cubitalis est mihi senescit."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yes, but I'm ridiculous in LATIN."