Oh. No. She. Didn't.

Because 3,000 miles of driving on our recent vacation wasn't enough for us, we drove five hours to visit friends for the weekend (you just wish you had our kind of stamina, man). Did you know that it's possible to sing "Little Bunny Foo Foo" for an hour straight? It is - just take my word for it. She did the "boppin' them on the head" hand motions for it every time, too.

We did have a nice weekend, once we got to our destination. We were visiting some friends - a guy P has known since his Marine Corps days, plus this friend's wife and kids. They have three boys - they made the third one in the interim since our last visit. We arrived at 6ish on Friday and headed to a kids' fair nearby. The kids rode on a fire truck, played games, and each left with a bag o'crap that they won. I am still trying to scrape a Cinderella tattoo off my kid's arm.

We spent Saturday afternoon at a man-made swimming lake. We sat on the course-sand beach while the kids played in the shallow water. During one of the "safety breaks," P took the kid to the snack bar to buy her a tooth-rotting product of some sort. She came back with a massive freeze pop. The mom-friend was sitting in a beach chair, holding the sleeping baby. "That's a big freeze pop!" she said to my daughter. A jumped up and down in the sand, clutching the bright red tube in her fist. "Yeah, it's huge!" she exclaimed. "Just like you!"

Now, I need to mention that our friend did just have a baby five months ago. Historically, she is not a large person. Like most women who have recently given birth, I'm guessing that she probably has a pound or two that she'd like to lose. But she is not "huge" - unless you're a three-year-old with a big mouth, I guess.

I coughed and sucked the green grape I was eating straight into my trachea. I wanted to move into damage control mode, but what do you say? "At least she didn't say you have a big vagina," I told my friend meekly, recounting the recent conversation where my precious daughter informed me that I have an enormous cooter.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. We did the campfire/s'mores gig after dark on Saturday night and then headed out Sunday morning.

When we got back I had to take A to the grocery store, in as much as we had no food in the house. The poor cashier will forever rue the day we got in her line, I'm sure. As I was loading the goods onto the conveyor belt, the kid homed right in on the youthful Super Walmart employee.

"I have a lot of dresses," she started. "This is my pink one. I was wearing a different one, but it got a little bit wet. Just a little bit wet at the bottom from my water table. I got green panties on. (Lifts skirt, is reprimanded by her mortified mother.) Father breaked our house. I got ice cream, but Mama said I can't have it now. I'm three. You have to hold down the little finger." (Demonstrates the "three" pose with her hands.) I can't remember what else she said, but I do recall that she also told the cashier her name and God only knows what else. The hapless Walmart employee just nodded politely the whole time. Then she had to call a manager because she wasn't old enough to ring up the wine I bought and I sure as Hell wasn't leaving without it.

Please tell me that the whole over-sharing thing gets better as they get older. Please? Please?


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