Momnesia

It's All About Me

I'm working my way through the parking lot at Augusta Exchange, trying to get to Bruester's. I promised Emmie we could have some (sugar free low fat) ice cream after dinner. Emmie was in the back seat, whining.
"I wah eye keeeeeem," she said.
"I know, honey. Can you be patient? We're going right now," I try to calm her while I pull up to the entrance to Agerton Lane by the Regal 20.
"Okay. Be pashen... firss, eye keem. Den, home," she says to herself.
"Very good, sweetheart! First ice cream, then home," I coo at her, watching the cars whiz pass me.
"Ooooh! LooK!" she shrieks.
"Mmmhmm," I mutter. Where are all these fools going?
"Das a letter," she says.
"Mmmhmm." Geez! People, go home!
"Das a O," she says. "Das a- das a O, yeah."
"Mmkay..." A truck cuts over and makes a sudden turn into the parkng lot, cutting off my only chance to escape. Gee, thanks. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, fighting off the urge to use my middle ones for another purpose.
"Das a O, das a M, das a P, das a yoo, das a sssssss," she says, and I think, "Ompus." Oooookay. That's not even a word, honey.
"Do you want to sing your ABCs?" I call back to her, daring the butthead in my rear view mirror to cut around me. It won't get his testosterone-fueled sports car out of this parking lot any faster.
"NO, I don' wanna," she says. "Das a O. Das a M, mama. Das a M, das a P, das a yoo, anna sssssss."
"Fine, Ompus-head," I say, and I see my chance. Py-yow! I'm streaking across the suicide lane into the right lane. A sign flashes by my face. COMP USA. Hmm. I've been meaning to get a new keyboard.
COMP USA.
C OMP US A.
C
OMPUS
A.

OMPUS.

Oh, my god. She just read me her letters. And my brain wasn't even in the game.