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Mel's Procrastination Palace
Saturday, February 12, 2005 Gummi Bear Butts and Lip Gloss

My daughter's home. (And yes, she brought my PDA back... loaded with pictures and doodles and hilarious to do notes.)

First, when my daughter hit puberty, she gained a sense of humor, not a sense of bitchiness. For this I bow to the powers that be and beg for mercy in my next life. Or perhaps I'll just enjoy every minute until she gets to hear "you're not leaving the house in THAT" and subsequently undergoes personality transformation....

She's hilarious.
My husband, bless his soul, has moments where I think he should be in comedy. He can come up with some hilarious stuff like that *snaps fingers*. One liners that send people to their knees. Stuff that is funny to everyone ( in case you think I'm biased)...

The daughter somehow inherited this ability, as well as the imagination gene. This makes her dangerous. She and her friends refer to one another as psycho. Boys not named Johnny Depp are boring and obnoxious. (Okay... JD is older than I am, she's 13... what's wrong with that picture?)

Anyway, she and I get together on these blessed weekends and it's like a slumber party. Tonight, the stomach hurting laughter was invoked by the theft of my lip balm. I visited the local pharmacy store tonight and was pleased to find lip balm at buy one, get one for a penny. Since my daughter doesn't have enough intelligence to remove her lip balm from her pants (and her mom doesn't check em, hmmm, interesting correlation) she's constantly without. So I grabbed a Chapstick Cherry for her and some ultra protection UV yadda yadda for me. But for some reason, she wants mine.

She picks it up off the desk with exaggerated interest. Pops the cap, sniffs, and looks way too far into nirvana for me. I see that dangerous glint in her eye and just know my UV protection will soon be coating the inside of my washing machine. Unless I intercept.

I reach for her hand. She jumps back. I fall forward, nearly out of my desk chair. Start of laughter. I reach again, hoping the dramatic look on my face will keep her paralyzed with that silent spasm long enough for me to retrieve the one cent lip lotion.

But she's good, real good in her old age. She spins, starting with the evil witch laugh and then promptly heads into actress mode with her out-of-reach diva-like application of MY lip balm to HER lips.

"Give it back."
"Mmmm, smells good. Wanna smell?" Balm is thrust into my face and nearly up my nostril. Oh yeah, smells decadent. Brat.
"I bought you some. That's mine."
"I like this one."
I wasn't buying it. I wouldn't take the bait. Really. Instead I open the packet of Haribo Gold bears and pop two in my mouth. She reaches and *Splat* hand smoooshed against desk. Kid:1, Mom:1

"Why don't you go watch TV with your dad," I tell her, knowing he'd rented a pay per view of some comedy (which I think is fuel for their brain.)
"Mmm. Mommy needs lip balm."
"Mommy does NOT."
"Oh yes, Mommy does." This is where I lament the fact that the child now outweighs me. She's just got a bigger and albeit getting-close-to-stronger frame. The three inches in height I have on her does me little good when I'm in my office chair. She grabs my hair and promptly applies way too much lip balm. By dabbing. No wait, the motion she used was more kin to a jackhammer than anything else.
So I'm half spitting the chunks of waxy substance stuck to my lip and she goes. "Wait. Hold on."
I think she's still got the lip balm.
It's worse.
She's got a gummi bear and now intends to force feed me.
I hold my lips as TIGHTLY as I could. Probably bad move.
She presses. I hold.
She releases.
The gummi bear sticks, butt first, to my lips.

That was the end of that.
Lip balm rolled out of her hand as she fell to her knees, pointing and wheezing at her dear mother, who of course, crossed her eyes to try to comprehend exactly what she'd done.
Neither of us need sit ups tonight. We'll have rock hard abs just spending a few hours a week with one another.

Oh, and then she did make me eat the lip balm coated gummi bear. Gross.
~Mel, who's abused by her child!

Posted by Melani Blazer :: 8:56 PM :: 1 comments

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