“So how was your day at school today?” I asked Paige, as I drove her to her Tuesday night dance classes. I have no idea how we got from there, to the conversation she initiated.
“….And then I’m going to buy up a lot of land in the rural areas (a new word she’s learned from school), and I’m going to open a zoo in my back yard. Of course, this is after I get married. But we’ll save money by not having kids and just buying a lot of land in the middle of nowhere.” It was all so logical to her.
I blame part of this conversation on the TV show My Life Is A Zoo. She walked in last week while I was watching a marathon of these shows, and she now thinks a baby hippopotamus in your back yard is the coolest thing ever. And doesn’t understand why we are not on board with this concept.
“You better make sure this husband of yours has a lot of money and a high tolerance for animals,” I admonished.
“Yeah, but to get enough money, he’s going to have to work in the prison with Daddy. And he’s going to have to put up fences on the side with Daddy. Which means we’ll have to introduce him to Chris.” Chris is my husband’s buddy who owns the fence putting-up business. “When we buy all the land, he’s going to have to build the whole zoo, too. We’re going to have to make enclosures for the tigers, and, well, it’s a lot of work to build the hippo exhibit.”
At this point in the conversation, I have no idea how we’ve gotten here.
“Is The Husband just going to give up sleeping, too?”
“Oh, Mom. You’re so funny. No, but he’s definitely going to have to do all the work for the zoo. I can’t do all that work. Maybe we’ll get some workers to help him.”
How giving. Paige is one of the laziest people I know. She loves results, but would like it so much better if results for anything didn’t cause her any exhaustion whatsoever, and if they didn’t make her miss the crucial points of her favorite TV shows (read: all TV shows).
“Paige, you don’t even like animals,” I reminded her. It’s not that she doesn’t like them, so much as if they won’t bend to her every whim, she has no use for them.
“I do so,” she told me in mock horror.
“You can’t stand Daisy (our chocolate lab).”
“You have no use for Hutch (our greyhound).”
“The bird annoys you.”
“I LOVE Wendy!”
“You never remember to feed Belle (her guinea pig).”
“And you killed a horseshoe crab on the beach this weekend by giving it a swift kick because you thought it as disgusting!” For which she got quite a yelling for.
“Love ’em all! But for the record, my zoo will NOT have horseshoe crabs.”
I cannot contain my laughter at this point. But she continues.
“So, we’re going to put up this huge fence around a pond for the tigers so they can play on really hot days, and they can drink. but the workers will do that. I’ll just watch them and tell them what to do.” She hedges. “Well, I guess if they drop a hammer I can pick it up for them.”
Well that’s might big of you. Glad you can exert your energies somewhere.
Boys of her generation: beware. She’s pretty, and she’s fun. But she plans on working you to death while she stands by and watches. And she’ll be armed with a hammer.