I didn’t spend much time around the interwebz at all this weekend. From Friday morning until now, I was dealing with broken down cars, birthday parties, aimless roaming, and family. I’m back now though, so it’s all better.
Yes, the car broke down on Friday morning and had to be towed to the dealership. *sniff* I hate being dependent on other people for transportation, but my loving godson was nice enough to drive his nanny around town after his college finals. Yay. I got to spend time with him. He’s not evil. Most of the time.
No, the evil kids were 9-year-olds. My cousin’s daughter’s birthday was on Saturday at a putt-putt golf course. It started out well. The birthday girl actually hugged me in front of her friends and was chatting with me about everything. She even showed me her “devil horns” because she apparently likes Gene Simmons…and tie-dyed shirts…and peace signs. She’s 9.
After the singing (which was awful), the cake (which was too tempting for me to ignore), the entire clan headed to the course. Eight kids and twelve adults. I thought for sure I’d be heckled by my cousins and their husbands, even my mother. But no…I was brought low by a 9-year-old girl named Danica. Ironic, isn’t it?
We were walking to the course when she looked up at me with her cute little face and asked how old I was. It’s my fault that she told me the truth…or at least what a 9-year-old girl scout fascist believes is the truth: she said I looked 40 (I still have several years until that auspicious day). My sister, who is 42, thought that was hilarious which of course, encouraged the torment. Next thing I know, the other 9-year-old demons started throwing out ages. 60…70…120. Yeah, I was thinking about using my putter for something other than golfing.
We let the kids play ahead of us and things went well. Sure, there were moments when I expected someone to throw a relative in the water hazard. And yes, my cousins tormented each other by kicking each other’s balls into the water, but no one fell in. It was fun, no one went to the hospital, and no one snapped. Well, sort of.
The kids were two holes ahead of us and it just so happened that the hole we were on was right next to the demons. I was lining up for my awesome shot when one of the demons said, “You’re still on that hole?” I may have pointed my putter at her and declared, “No talking across the course!” Being scared to death as she was, she rolled her eyes and shrugged before heading back to the other demons.
The moral of this story? I’m glad my cats and dog can’t talk. Was I really angry? Nope, not at all. It was an experience and it just further proved my belief that not having children was best for my mental health.
How was your weekend?