Sean’s BFF, Reagan, lives across the street. They go to school together and ride bikes together and that kind of thing. He totally adores her, even though they’re highly competitive and sometimes squabble like siblings. Just recently I had to break up a heated argument over who has the biggest nose. Apparently when you are four, it’s very important to be the biggest in all areas, including the schnoz.
At any rate, because of their friendship, Reagan’s mom, Jennifer, has become one of my dearest friends. But like most women of four-year-olds, she was born when I was in high school. And she is six inches taller than me, has long legs and weighs ten pounds less. And has great hair. And fabulous clothes. Yet, inspite of all of her many many flaws, I like her very much because I’m just kind-hearted like that.
Didn’t know it was possible to digress even before starting a story, did you?
But I digress.
At any rate.
I keep a picture of Antique Daddy and me on my desk, a picture that was taken of us shortly after we started dating back in the fall of 1996. And if I do say so myself, I looked
somewhat less hideous than I do today pretty good.
The other day, Sean took notice of that picture and asked to see it. I handed it to him and he inspected it closely before asking who it was. I told him that it was his daddy and me a long time ago.
“Oh,” he said, “You used to be pretty like Miss Jennifer.”
Oh well thanks a lot for THAT newsy update Mr. Mirror Mirror On The Wall.
“Oh yeah?” I said, “Well Reagan’s nose is bigger than yours, so there.”
No I didn’t really say that. That would be so immature.
No, I stuck my thumbs in my ears, waved my fingers and blew raspberries at him instead. Which I know will come back to haunt me.
Edited to add: In his clumsy little boy way, I *think* (hope?) what he was trying to say was, “Hey look! You used to have long blonde hair just like Jennifer!” Unfortunatley (for my ego) it sounded more like “What the heck happened here?”