But I digress.
We stopped for catfish and at the end of the meal, I got up to use the restroom. Daughter 2 quickly jumped up to go with me because she is of the belief that if she goes without touching me for an extended time, we'll both implode. She practices Attachment Parenting. I, however, do not. But, I let her come along with me for the sake of family harmony. It's what mommas do best.
Where was I?
Oh yeah. The bathroom. As we left the bathroom, we noticed a tall, dark, handsome cardboard cut out at the end of the hallway. I flipped the switch to turn on the lights at that end and was delighted to find George Straight.
"Look, honey," I said to Daughter 2, "George Strait must have been waiting for me to come out of the bathroom. I'll bet he wants to take a picture with me. Would you do the honors?" Then I handed off my phone to my youngest child.
"Momma?" she said tentatively, a slight bit of worry evident in her voice, "It's just a cardboard statue."
I smiled, "Yes. I'm being funny. It's not really George Strait. Now take the picture. It'll be funny."
"But you know he's not real, right?"
"I know. That's what makes it funny."
"What's funny about it, Momma?"
"He's not real. It's cardboard. Take the pic already!"
Satisfied that I knew it wasn't a real man, she snapped my pic and we returned to the table.
|Cardboard or not, I'm telling people that I've kissed George Straight.|
We ate the last of the hushpuppies, paid our bill, grabbed our free candy and left.
Just outside of the door, we found a statue of a buffalo or a bison--that argument is another post entirely. Daughter 1 ran her hand along it's face--the artist in her admiring the lines; the animal lover in her wishing it were real. Daughter 2, however, crouched down underneath the buffalo.
"Take my picture, Momma," she called.
"Um ... why?"
"Momma, look. It's funny!"
"What's funny about it, sweetie?"
"I'm milking him, but he's not real."
Silly city girl.