I had another long day, waking at 3:20, working from 4-7, dropping Rock Star off at school, coming home and getting ready for the full-time job and then working from 8:45-5:15. After that I headed to the school to pick up Rock Star after track practice. Finally, we arrived back home where I cooked the rice to finish up our dinner. About 30 minutes later Rock Star comes to me and asks when she’s going to learn to parallel park. Yes, in this amazing state parallel parking is apparently still part of the driving test. Awesome, huh?
Look, it doesn’t phase me. I can parallel park with the best of them. Rock Star still talks about the time I whipped into a parking spot on a hill after looking around for parking and almost missing our dinner reservations. “And that’s how you parallel park!” I said triumphantly before hopping out of the car. They were both amazed. Like I said, still talking about it today, almost two years later.
So there I was, 7:00 at night, teaching my daughter to parallel park. I had already changed out of my work clothes into some comfy sweats (hey, I’m not married so I can dress comfortably!) and a t-shirt. The bra had been whipped off and left behind and it didn’t dawn on me until after we stopped for gas that I was out in public braless. Oh well, that’s what coats are for, right?
Anyway, that was my badass moment of the night. I taught my kid to parallel park. Many days I feel like I’m completely failing both of them. But that night? I felt amazing, free boobies and all. Work all day, get dinner on the table, throw in a load of laundry, and then teach a child to parallel park.
Onto those inappropriate conversations… Inappropriate conversation #1: As we were driving back home Rock Star almost t-boned a cop car. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. She was at a stop sign and I thought she was going to go even though the car that was about 20 feet away had the right of way. Nobody was hurt. Nobody was even almost hurt. Everything was fine. But we started cracking jokes about what would happen if we hit a cop car. Choices ranged from offering up our cheeseburgers to flirting. Then Rock Star comments, “The flirting isn’t enough? Maybe I could offer a little bit more.” Instead of reprimanding my daughter for her dirty mind I chime in, “Hell, I’ve got 5 minutes to kill.” She looks at me and says, “Mom, that’s an insult, not a compliment.” Oh boy! How does she know this?
Inappropriate conversation #2: Has anyone seen or heard of the movie(s) called, “The Purge”? I’ve never seen it but from the few previews I’ve seen the basic premise is that for 24 hours all crime is legal. It’s every man and woman for himself/herself. I have no idea how the movie ends; I only know there was a sequel. She asks me what I would do if a 24 hour purge was really legal. Without hesitating I tell her what I would do, which I’m not going to say here. Her response: “Wow. I was going to say I would go shopping and not pay for anything. Maybe go to McDonald’s and get a free sweet tea,” was her reply.
“Yeah, I went dark real quick.”
To lighten the mood, I’ll give you a funny conversation with her that same night. She’s telling me if she ever has a daughter she wants to name her Margaret because she likes the nickname Mags. Or she would name her Louella Ann. I’m just shaking my head. Then she offers up another name and asks me if I like it. “I’m not crazy about it but your father liked it. And it rhymes with Harley (well, her real name anyway).”
“So we’re back to Louella?” she deadpans.
I think this is my mother getting her revenge. For years I told her if I had a baby girl I was going to name her Bambi Fawn. “I’ll call her Dear, for short.” Now I’m stuck with Louella. I guess it’s better than Cinnamon.