Thanks a lot, Fluffy. This explains so much:
My inner child is six years old!
Look what I can do! I can walk, I can run, I can
read! I like to do stuff, and there's a whole
big world out there to do it in. Just so long
as I can take my blankie and my Mommy and my
three best friends with me, of course.!
How Old is Your Inner Child?
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It's probably also why I do stuff like this:
Our friend Floyd, now of AZ but formerly local, is an infamous prankster. I am more hesitant about wreaking havoc and innuendo--being uptight--but sometimes go on a rampage after being needled one too many times. Floyd has a big ol' backlog waiting for him now that he's exited our area, but I managed to get in one doozy before he left.
It was April Fool's day, 1999. Iz was three months old. I has reached that semi-competent, totally ambulatory, mostly isolated, and completely fucking bored phase of new stay-at-home motherhood, and decided that this would be a safe day to get me some payback.
So I showed up at Floyd's work toting Iz. It was a relatively new job for him, and I hadn't visited yet--the front office staffers didn't know me. I put on my best woeful face, and asked for Floyd. The admin asked for a name, and I gave her mine. She asked me if I had a message, and I got all evasive, mumbling about how I'd met him at a work party about a year ago and really needed to talk to him, and had had a hard time tracking him down since he'd changed jobs.
It was a small company--everyone knew everyone else and she certainly knew who Floyd was. Watching her try to digest all that delicious gossip-fodder was worth every bit of effort. She'd obviously completely forgotten what day it was.
"Just tell him I was here." I sighed, tearfully. "He knows how to reach me if he wants to." As if on cue, Iz started wailing. Shoulders bowed, I walked out the door...
...and skipped to the car. Ha!