B is for…

Buttocks.

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That failed to fit in the merry-go-round and begged to be rather let out. “No can do,” I said in a firm voice. The little girl complimented me on having such a fine lipstick, and you, my buttocks, were not going to let me down. I fit myself in on a seat too small and made small talk with the little one who I only met this afternoon. *Goodness! The responsibility of being an adult are complex and infinite*

Children have many lessons to teach us. I learnt mine as the little one licked her butterscotch ice cream and I shooed away Mr Brownie, the dog, who wouldn’t leave our side.

  1. Art of exaggeration: She said her home is 60 kms (37 miles) away and it took her 70 hours to reach my house.
  2. Ice cream art: We spent 15 minutes laughing at the moustache that she made with the help of her melting ice-cream.
  3. Rediscovery: I learnt I am like Ravi, a character she read about when she was in Grade 1. In his dream world, Ravi travels to Africa, US and the beings under the seas. Her dream world comprises of fairies and Barbies, one that she hopes to look like – which she already does.
  4. Subtle hints: She said she loved Barbies, but doesn’t own one. Subtle ploy to lure me in with her cuteness and make her buy one? Good one, kiddo.
  5. Chit chat, chitty chitty, chit chat: She told me she wants to become a teacher like her mom (aww moment), loves trees (OMG, kindred spirit), doesn’t know what a cycle is (eh?), has two BFFs, is six years old, loves environmental sciences, there are 45 birds in our area, her mother has 34 lipsticks and that she shares half of them with her… (catch my drift? Please do, you better do).
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I am a good role to little impressionable minds. And with this picture, I rest my case. 

Back to the buttocks that have sat on better seats. I slyly got out of the merry-go-round and said a little thank you prayer when I was finally let free. Freedom comes in many shapes and sizes, mind you!

Stupid children, I tell you. Makes you want to be at your best especially when they adore you.

—-

I wish the current theme for the post was mine. But it isn’t. Credit goes to this weirdo, who writes in a manner that makes you want to weep. I hate you. I really do.

 

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