Hey ya’ll. I know I promised all sorts of things and I have not delivered. What had happened was I wrote a few and I lost some of my work and then I blamed my blog. So I stopped writing for a while. Also, I’m pursuing an MFA in creative writing, so I’ve been writing (my own stuff) and editing (other people’s stuff) for that and then not wanting to even look at a keyboard or monitor after that.
Anyhoo, how have you been? Yeah, yeah, now back to what’s important—me. Just kidding, you know I love you guys. But seriously, back to me.
One, Wondergirl is eleven. Or as I prefer to call it: Eleventeen. Wondergirl has never been easy, but good gravy, you guys, this chick is acting brand new. Like she has never met me or the Big Man before. Well, in the words of Kevin Hart, “She gon’ learn today.”
So she’s stomping around here, slamming doors and such, when finally, the Big Man has had it. Now, the petty stuff he lets me handle—I enjoy being petty. I really do. I will argue with a seven-year-old and fight a baby. (BTW, shout out to Birdie for teaching me how to fight a baby. It’s an art, you know.) Apparently, however, door slamming isn’t petty. From what I surmise, it’s tantamount to property damage and the Big Man ain’t having it.
He looks at me and says, “I warned her.” And in all fairness, he did.
Okay, so a few weeks ago, she was acting all stompy and mean and door-slammy. The Big Man was not cool with this, so he called her down to his almighty recliner and told her:
“Look. If you ever slam that door again, it’s coming off.” And then he went back to watching Miami Vice. The show, not the terrible, terrible movie. Colin Farell? Really?
Anyway, I guess Wondergirl forgot. I forgot too, but then, I’m not the one running around slamming doors. (Sidenote: I used to be the Door Slam Empress. But then one time my dad had enough of my reign and decided to overthrow me with the Bust-the-Door-Open-So-Hard-It-Put-a-Hole-in-the-Wall technique.) The Big Man did not forget and he had had it up to hyeah (“here”, for those not familiar with parental grammar). So he looks at me and says, “It’s coming off.”
At first I thought he meant his calm demeanor and that he was planning on hulking out, which I wasn’t cool with. But he saw the confused and ready-to-argue look and my face and says, “I mean her door. Everything isn’t comics, Veeds.” He’s wrong about that, but I’m just glad he meant her door.
So he goes and gets all these dramatic tools from the garage and trudges upstairs like he’s walking the Green Mile. Wondergirl suspects nothing. I am profoundly grateful for this, because I really don’t want K street to fall victim to what happens when an unstoppable force meets an unmovable object. (I do know that this is supposed to be physically impossible; this would be the first time people–I PROMISE. It would destroy mathematical academia as we know it.)
You know that time Roseanne took down Darlene’s door? This was nothing like that. The Big Man removed the door and Wondergirl said nothing. Nothing. She just looked at him. Then she cried a little bit and continued to say nothing. And then cleaned her room in silence.
Y’all ain’t hearing me though.
Background: I have to BEG Wondergirl to clean her room. BEG. So now, after punishment, she does it voluntarily? I’m not buying it. It seems like she’s getting her affairs in order so she can assume a different identity. You know, like after committing a horrific crime.
I’m a coward, though, so I didn’t say anything. I’m just acting nervous around her and offering lots of ice cream. Who knows? Maybe being a widow won’t be so bad.
Oh. OH. Remember I was telling you guys about Omega Prime? This kid is so awesome I can’t even. So just wait a bit. It’ll happen.