Dontcha

Kenny promised the girls donuts if they let us sleep in a little this morning. Teaching Jill time was an excellent idea. At precisely 8am, I hear them running full steam down the stairs. Uggghh donut time. By 8:05 we are in the car. Between large gulps of coffee, I turn on the radio, only to find three stations of morning show repeats and one playing "Dontcha."

Immediately Jill begins to giggle.

"What is so funny back there," I demand, sure that she has tied up her sister or something equally as naughty.

"Hey Mommy. Remember this song?"

Uhhh, yes. The question is why the hell does my six-year-old remember this song?

"Remember the man in the coffee shop."

Oh hell.

Rewind two and a half years. Little blonde with goldilocks curls, big blue eyes, sweet little smile, big blue Cinderella dress with matching Cinderella shoes hanging from my legs in the coffee shop comands the attention of the man in line behind us. He smiles, she laughs. He waves, she waves. He says, "Hello," she sings......

"Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?!"

Man runs out of the coffee shop, horrified, probably on his way to call CPS to report me.