I am no stranger to the inappropriate ramblings of small children. Take my younger sister for example. At the wee age of three, she was playing with a bunch of pans and kitchen utensils on the floor, you know… how kids used to do before they were all born with Ipads and cellphones in their hands. There was some discussion in play between my mother, my stepfather and myself. I was probably trying to up my curfew or some other sort of teenage begging. As we bounced the subject around between the three of us, my little sister picked up a pot and stuck it on her head like a hat.
“Look! I’m a pothead!”
I snickered. My parents turned to me with accusation in their eyes. “What?”
“Did you teach her that?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I may have dyed her hair green last week and put black lipstick on her, but I did not teach her to say that.”
Madison giggled and went on about her culinary playground. She wasn’t sure what was funny, but she knew she got a rise out of us.
Another magical Madison moment occurred on a Saturday night. My friend Dekaf and I had been plotting to borrow mom’s car for the night. “Fine, but you have to put gas in it and you have to take Madison out for an ice cream cone before you leave for the night.”
We drove to Hardees, got Madison’s cone and two Char with cheeses for us. (Old School Cape Charles lingo: Cheeseburgers) We pulled up at the gas pump. I put the car in park and turned to Madison, who was sitting happily in her car seat pigging out on her ice cream cone. “I’ve got to run in and pay for gas. You hang tight with Dekaf, got it?”
Madison nodded and continued to eat her ice cream.
I payed, pumped the gas and got back in the car.
“Everything go okay?”
Dekaf smiled, “Fine. I know she’s been sitting back there thinking to herself, ‘Who is this crazy black girl that won’t stop talking?”
Madison stopped eating her ice cream and said, “You’re not black, you’re brown.”
I thought Dekaf was going to piss herself. “You’re totally right baby girl! I am brown, right?”
Madison resumed stuffing her face with her ice cream, satisfied that she had made a valid point in an adult conversation.
The Madison-isms could go on forever. However, I told you these so you could understand that I know the ramblings of a child can get out of hand and uncomfortable especially when this talent is used in public.
Last night, the beau and I were having dinner at our favorite Mexican Restaurant (El Maguey, you kick ass). The table behind ours was occupied by two children (both boys, maybe age six and twelve) and two adults. The adults were obviously a couple, but weren’t the parents … unless they were those new age kids who refer to their parents by first name. From a spectator’s seat, I’m going to say that one of these adults were an older sibling or an aunt/uncle.
I try not to eavesdrop, and if I do so at El Maguey I limited myself to Spanish conversations just to keep what little Spanish I have left in tune. Unfortunately, the rambling six year old was way too good to ignore.
Six year old: And that’s how your friend got engaged?
Six year old: That is really nice! John, if you proposed to Susan, what would you say?
I can feel the uncomfortable cloud overtaking the whole dining area. This is going to be fantastic! The beau, who was talking about something that actually pertained to us and not strangers, noticed that I was giggling. “What?”
“Ssh! I’m listening.” I shifted my eyebrows in their direction.
Adult Male John: I don’t know.
Six Year Old: Would you tell her that you would love her for a lifetime?
DEAR GOD! What are they letting kids watch these days? Has Fifty Shades come out in a cartoon? Really, I wouldn’t have said that… ever and I’m in my thirties. I would have said, ‘Pass the crayons’ or ‘I have lots of earwax’ or something up that alley at six.
Adult Male John: Maybe, I haven’t really thought about it.
Six Year Old: Susan, what would you say if you proposed to John?
At this point, I’m sure that someone has set this kid up to this and he’s being fed lines through a hidden earpiece.
Adult Female Susan: That’s not how it works. The man proposes.
Six Year Old: Why? I heard that women propose to men sometimes.
Adult Female Susan: I guess I’m more of a classic person. I think the man should propose to the woman. *Gives a glance towards Adult Male John, is she looking for reassurance… a little support.. maybe for him to drop on a knee right now?
Six Year Old: Once you are married, do you protect each other?
Adult Female Susan: No, the man is supposed to protect the woman.
I whisper to the beau, “Should we tell them about the other night where I thought I heard something outside, and instead of waking you up, I went outside with the baseball bat, looking for someone to clobber with it?”
He nodded. Years of living on my own has left me with the instinct to tackle things independently, including the possibility of trespassers. I don’t think the beau wholeheartedly approves when I do such things on my own, but he’s known me long enough to know this is the mess he’s gotten himself into.
Six Year Old: Why doesn’t the woman protect the man? Doesn’t she love him?
Watch out world, this is the future Dr. Phil!
Adult Female Susan: Well, men are stronger than women. That’s why they protect women. It’s their job to protect their wife.
Then our food came to the table. As much as I would have loved to continue listening in on the conversation, as I mentioned before, I have high wax put out and it makes it really hard to hear when I chew.
After they left, the beau and I discussed the possible scenarios on the way home for our neighboring table.
“I think once they get rid of those kids tonight, the guys is going to say … ‘So, I think we should start seeing other people.’ It cannot be a good sign if the kid is playing matchmaker.”
The beau finished chewing his quesadilla and said, “I bet the little kid is going to say, ‘Make sure you kiss her good night. Kiss her good night. Did you tell her you love her?”
We laughed some more and came up with a few more possibilities. It is funny how over time, some things change and others stay the same. They seem to be taking on different subjects, but kids will find a way to bring up embarrassing and inappropriate subjects probably until the end of time.
Ah, there I am. I would like to tell you that I was an embarrassing child, but that isn’t completely true. I have never quite outgrown the foot-in-mouth syndrome. I continue to embarrass family and friends every single day! I did ask my mother if she could give me something embarrassing I said to post with this. She replied: Mostly your sister (not Madison) said embarrassing things. You did say ‘son of a bitch’ quite often.
As I was saying… some things never change.