Momnesia

Good rebound - why isn't the NBA calling?

So, as I was starting dinner, I got into a ridiculous online conversation about the Major Suckitude of Phil Collins, which, as we all know, it a Major Issue in America Today.

"Mom?" Emmie said, breaking my flow of superior musical taste tweeting.

"Yeah?"

"What about dinner?"

Uhh... I looked at the toaster oven. Her horrid fish sticks, which she loves, were still sitting on the oven. Uncooked. Think fast, Mom. She's still looking at you.

"What about it?" I asked.

"Aren't you gonna cook me sumping?"

"What?! You said you were going to cook tonight!" I exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"I mean, I got all excited for you to cook, and now you're backing out? That's not cool, Em."

"No I diddin'!" she squealed.

"I distinctly remember that you said you were going to make me a booger sandwich. Where's my booger sandwich?!"

She giggled and ran into the kitchen. She pantomimed sandwich-making, and delivered my imaginary plate with a flourish.

"Here you go! One booger sammich, coming up!"

"Excellent!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands. "You want some, too? I'll share."

"Uh, no fank you," she said, waving off my offer. "I make my own dinner."

"Whatcha gonna make?"

"Fish sticks," she answered, and flipped on the oven as though she'd been cooking all her life.

(sigh) It's best she learns early how to fend for herself.