y husband is one of these people who's deathly afraid of needles. The dentist had to give him Valium before a Novocaine injection, and even so he got all nervous and queasy. So when I broached the subject of getting Milkula's ears pierced, I worried more about my big baby than my little one.
Naturally, I did what any loving, respectful wife would do, and got it done behind his back. Heh.
It was an operation worthy of the CIA, only I like to think more competently performed.
First, I had to persuade Minitaur he needed another train from the Thomas the Idiot Engine set, or whatever it's called. This took about .00001 seconds, even when I insisted he use his "allowance" money, which consists of him picking his father's pockets every night.
We shook out $40 in quarters from a ceramic bank in the shape of a fire engine. How did my son come to have more cash than his ol' lady?
So off we go to Victoria Gardens, which, despite my protests, is an attractive mall even if cars do run through it, which is just about the stupidest thing I've ever seen. I mean, geez, drivers just do not remember how to share the road any longer. They haven't successfully made room for pedestrians in about 30 years -- I don't even think they teach it in driver's ed any longer -- and then you let them careen through a friggin' mall? And make them parallel park?
We somehow survived the onslaught of impatient parkers and made our way to a Thomas the Torpor-inducing Tank Engine store there. I let Minitaur act out his aggressions on the displays before he proudly offered up several pounds of coinage for Percy, Thomas'
gay lover best friend.
But I felt sure Minitaur would need further convincing to come along to a jewelry store with me, so I bought him a Hot Dog on a Stick, just about the best food innovation since, well, anything else on a stick.
Finally, it came time to do the dirty deed, to bring Operation Gold Stud to a successful close and get my agent in from the cold and change her diaper. Or something like that.
We went to a junque jewelry shop called Claire's. Milkula perched in my lap, and then Minitaur wanted to do so too and screamed. He fussed more than she did.
I chose simple 3mm gold studs. First one ear, and a heckuva lot of squawling and wriggling later, with my arms pinning her in place, we did the other ear. Then I held her up to a mirror and she was too entranced by her own pulchritude to cry.
Then I made the mistake of trying to pick out a few more earrings for her. I hear a door jingle and my son is wheeling the stroller out onto the sidewalk. "Time to go, Mommy!"
Um, gotta pay first, sweetie.
"No, it's time to go!"
Men just don't have that shopping instinct, do they?
Somehow I managed to pay, grab the earrings, my red-earred daughter, my red-faced son and the stroller and make it back to the car without getting run over and with only one or two more screaming fits (from my son, naturally).
The baby snoozed all the way home.
My husband made grimacing faces when he came home.
It's been three weeks and the baby looks adorable. Nobody mistakes my baldy for a boy anymore, and my husband has stopped fainting at the sight of her.
And my son's announced he wants another Thomas the Twit Engine.
Name's Boles. Anne Boles. Agent 007-3/4.