Two for One at Robinson Mall

Alexis' portrait is still hanging at one of the Picture People stores at one of the malls in town. I know it's still there because random people will occasionally come up to Alexis and me and say something about it. I also get random people coming up to talk about the hemangioma on her forehead. (By the way, I hate talking to strangers one-on-one. Give me an audience of 500 and I'm all happy. Ask me to talk to a stranger for 10 seconds, I'm annoyed.) Today I had the pleasure of a two for one.

So Alexis and I are minding our own business, on our way to the playground. This random woman walks up and starts talking at me. Since she started with "Is that your little girl in the picture at . . . " she managed to get my attention. Mistake number one. She keeps going and starts to talk about how her little girl (probably 5 and standing right there) also had the same kind of mark on her head. Blah, blah, blah. Finally she gets to her point and says something to the effect "Isn't it too bad that Picture People can't Photoshop the strawberry off of her forehead?" Since I often forget to think before I speak, I replied, "Why would they do that?" She then went into this long disertation about how she Photoshopped EVERY SINGLE photo of her daughter so that she wouldn't grow up and be self-concious about pictures of herself.

I should probably mention that the lady had decided to do laser surgery and remove the hemangioma. You know, those things that go away on their own. The surgery left a heck of a scar. Even worse . . .how do I put this . . . well, I have to admit that the birthmark was the least of this kid's worries. We're talking Janice's baby from the of Friends when Rachel had Emma. That birthmark was doing the kid a favor by distracting from the rest of the mess on her shoulders. I can't even describe her other than to say she may have been the offspring of an alien, a pitbull, and Danny DeVito. And I'm exaggerating on the side of being nice.

Somehow I escaped this mad woman, but I'm still left to wonder, who Photoshops every picture of their kid? AND thinks everyone else should be doing it too?


Who's the Bigger Dork?

There's a new debate in our house . . .

On Tuesday, Daddy confessed that he once saw Hall and Oats in concert. THAT made me laugh hysterically. It's not so much funny that he went, but it is funny that he told me, the Queen of Mockery. As I was mocking him for being a girl, he threw out "Yeah, well NELSON."

Yes, I did see Nelson in concert about 58 years ago when they were still almost hot brothers that sang together. I feel no need to defend this decision because: 1)It was free. 2)I lived in freakin' Minot, North Dakota. It's not like I had a whole lot of other things to do at the time. "Let's see. Should I go to a Nelson concert or sit here and stare at the wall. Hmmm . . . tough decision."

Anyway, who is the bigger dork?


Not a Dog

In order to qualify as a "dog," it has to be bigger than a football. That means this is a dog (shut up, Jasmine is too bigger than a football).

This one was smaller than a football at the time, but was still definately a dog.

After all, she grew up, got ugly, and now eats footballs as a snack. Definately a dog.

I don't care if you added them all together into one body, these would still not be dogs.

Alexis was born with that knowledge. I have seen the evidence with my own eyes. Alexis has no fear of dogs whatsover. It doesn't matter how many times she gets knocked over, barked at, licked, trampled, nipped, whatever, she still loves dogs. I get her to go in the house every day by saying, "Let's go play with the dogs." If she sees a dog at the park, she gets excited. Heck, the kid gets all excited if she even sees a picture of a dog.

So she and I are wandering around Pet Supplies Plus (not buying a turtle, that acquisition has been nixed). Lo and behold two of those little Not-dogs appeared at the end of the aisle. Alexis froze. Then started to whimper. Then the Not-dogs started towards her. She turned around as fast as she could to high-tail it out of there. But it was a dead end; she was trapped. I took a shaking in her boots Alexis by the hand and started to slowly walk down the aisle, past the Not-dogs. Alexis whimpered louder and cowered up against me. One of the Not-dogs suddenly jumped up. Alexis screamed, climbed up into my arms as if a ladder had magically appeared before her, and then sobbed. And hid her face. And sobbed some more. Until we were past the Not-dogs, then she lunged back to the ground and proceeded to see if there were any dog treats that tasted good.

Alexis is not scared of dogs. But she is scared of rat-like Not-dogs. I can't say that I blame her.