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On this particular morning, I walked into the cafe and found Alissa sitting in the back.  She’d already gotten herself a coffee.  She was holding the cup with both hands, still feeling the chill from outside.  She was wearing jeans and a fabulous off white sequined top under the perfect navy blazer (not a spot of spit-up to be found), a pair of slouchy knee high boots – low heel – in mahogany with side buckles and they DID fit her calves.    She had a manicure.  French, pppfff of course.  Her wedding and engagement rings fit her ring finger perfectly.  Her hair looked lovely tucked behind one ear with ease, curls flowing and not frizzing.  As I approached the table, I noticed her looking down and smiling.  Of course.  She’d brought the baby.  He was in his carseat. I stopped and watched for a moment.  As I stepped closer to the table his face became visible and I could see why she didn’t want to take her eyes off of him.  He was THE CUTEST BABY IN THE WORLD.

Me: Hi, Alissa.

Alissa: Hi!  So good to see you.

Me: Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview.  It’s been awhile.

Alissa: Yes, it has.  But the time off has been worth it. She looks down at her son…nope…sorry her manicure.

Me: He’s beautiful.  How old is he now?

Alissa: Thank you.  Ten weeks, eleven on Saturday. 

Me: He’s so calm, such a good baby.  He seems very advanced.  He was holding a menu running his finger down the list of iced drinks.

Alissa:  How nice of you to say that.  Yes, I don’t mean to brag, but he is quite extraordinary.  I don’t want to compare my baby to others.  Although, he does seem to be gifted.  And perfect.  And gorgeous. In fact, he may start talking next week – you never know! She laughs.

Me: And how are you doing as a new mom?

Alissa: Wonderfully, I think.  I’ve managed to look stunning, didn’t you notice?  And, my child is clean, in a fresh diaper, keeping to himself and occasionally smiling at me to let me know that he needs me but is not overly needy.  My husband is completely content with our new family life and is sure we’ll be able to afford everything a child needs.  If you were to go to my house right now, my floors would be vacuumed, laundry done and put away, dishes loaded in the dishwasher and everything in its place.

Me:  That sounds…almost impossible, but okay.  So, you’re getting back to work then?  We would love to know what’s next for you.

Alissa: Work?  Who’s working? I had a kid so I could stay home and watch Oprah.

Me: Ha.  That’s a joke…right? Anyway, you’ll be churning out something stellar soon? 

Alissa: Totally.  Yes.

Isn’t my child pretty?  His poop smells like the rainforest.

We sat and talked for another hour while her son filled out an application for Mensa or plotted the takedown of all wireless communications – I’m not sure.  I swear he winked at me once.  Look for a continuation of this interview in next month’s issue.  Find out Alissa’s other uses for a breast pump and why you shouldn’t panic when the doctor delivering your baby says, “What is that?”

 

 

Instead of complaining about the neighbor kid’s propensity to ring your door bell every three seconds until you answer it just to take a second and tell you Good Morning and did you forget to mention that this occurs every morning.  At 7AM. Instead of talking about his creepy eyes and weird deep voice, a voice way too smoky for a ten year old, instead of going over again this small when-he-grows-up-unsuspecting-people-will-die-by-his-hands kid, instead of wondering if he is – right now – going through your underwear drawer or leaving dead mice in your bed or licking all of your spoons or using your toothpaste as hair gel, maybe on your next car trip you should try to come up with your own vanity plates.  Here are a few of mine:

4GOT2P   Hold it.

HAV2RUN    No, you don’t.  No one HAS to.

LUV4MEN   Love for men or love 4 men?

CRAKWAK  It IS whack

BAILMNY    Whose?  Yours?

VNARIAL    Pilot’s car

MY BOAT  No, sorry.  It’s a car.

DNTH8ME  Oh, but we do.

9MNS NO   No also means No in Spanish.

 P NSCAR    …..

SHONUFF  Damn straight!

FRTCAKE  I know you are but what am I?

GNNUTTY  Yes, you have!  Now, brake before the edge of that cliff!

JST FRTD  Ugh.  Roll down the windows, please.

26Y2BL8   The hot have no time table.

M84LIFE   The car, not your wife.

HAAAHAA   Hahahahaha!

2NDFACE   Okay, but how many butts is that?

This weekend, if your grandmother tells you she has an egg hunt planned for you and your boyfriend, don’t believe her.  She’s just lost her dentures again and is going to make you find them.   Your little cousin will bite the ears off the chocolate bunnies and then place them back in the centerpieces, one on top of the other so that it appears they’re having bunny sex.  Your Dad will screw up the prayer again and his sister’s eyes will shoot death rays because he forgot to ask God to bless her 17 year old pug named “Lancelot”, who by the way, is having trouble breathing through his bunny costume.  Your mother will bring up homosexuality as she passes the mashed potatoes saying, “Well, if one man wants to make love to another man…well, I just don’t see how that’s any of my business.” To which, your grandfather will choke on the ham and yell, “Jesus Christ!  It’s Easter!  Can’t we talk about something else?” And you will decide that’s the perfect moment to tell your family you’re pregnant.  

If you do end up sitting around a table poking your casserole this weekend wondering how you could be related to these clowns, I suggest you do what I’ve been doing and try to find out.

Here’s what it’s like to research your ancestry:

      1.   You find out you had a great-aunt who married her first cousin and they had a kid who they named “Ralph.”  Then, she divorces her first cousin and marries her neighbor and they have a kid who they name….”Ralph.” 

      2.   Your father’s great-great uncle was a mime.  And now your father thinks he’s got talent.

      3.   You’re 1/16th Cherokee and you have no way of using that to your advantage.

      4.   It’s quite possible that your grandfather was adopted and he doesn’t know.  To tell or not to tell?

      5.   Your grandmother’s sister fell in love with a prison-inmate.  The inmate fell in love with his cell-mate.  She never got over it.

      6.   Your great-great grandmother was a pioneer for women.  She was an explorer in the jungles of South America.  It all sounds great until you find the picture of her holding someone’s severed head.

     7.   Hey!  Your mom’s cousin, the one they all assumed had died after becoming homeless and hooked on meth is actually that guy that invented those super-soak towels that you secretly want to buy.  He’s rich.  You’re not.

     8.   Going way back, you find evidence proving you’re royalty.  Your father’s family has roots in France and Germany.  It appears you are a direct descendant of Charles le Gros!  Dammit.  When translated, that means “Charles The Fat.” 

    9.   Your uncle’s birth certificate lists his name as “Wily” instead of “Willy.”  You start calling him “The Coyote.”

  10.   Your mother takes this as an opportunity to tell you how you were conceived.  You can’t remember the whole story because you started taking shots of tequila every time she said the word “penis.”  There may have been some mention of cheese cloth.  You’re not sure.

Maybe you should skip the family get-together and go see a movie instead.

Saw you at the Laundromat last night…the one on Kirkland st.  You always wear plaid but I’m ok with that.  You were washing clothes and drinking something out of a bottle in a bag.  I remember your perfume.  Musk?  Did you see me watching you from the vending machine?  Don’t use that machine.  It eats quarters.  Find me.

Hello, again, I hope.  We’ve seen each other before on the third floor of the downtown library.  You have an interest in mayan history or maybe boats.  I’m not that familiar with the dooey decibal system.  You have blonde hair and I have blonde hair.  Isn’t that weird?  I would love to read some books with you.  If you see this, email me.

I have to talk to you again!  We ran into each other in line for the new iphone.  I can’t remember the last time I had an in person conversation of more than five minutes and then there was you.  We chatted about apps and Facebook.  We are both bloggers and work from home.  We love Apple products and hate it when other people like our music.  I can’t believe I let you go without knowing your name or number.  Find me on Twitter.

Hi.  You probably won’t remember me.  We’ve never talked, but we’ve made steamy eye contact.  I felt the vibe we had and couldn’t get up the courage to say hello.  Will you be back in Ms. Saunder’s class 5th period?  I will be at my desk.  I will be wearing a red shirt that says “Basketball Rules” with a picture of a basketball on it. Are you still going out with Jason?

Do you know who you are?  Outside the McDonald’s, exit 23.  You are med. height with great legs and a nice figure.  You only have one arm.  I have both of my arms, but I think we could get together and talk or maybe more.  What do you think?  I could help you open doors and cut your food.  We could clap together.  I hope you know how to use a computer and see this.  I could teach you how to use a computer if you don’t know how.  I can do a lot of things.  I love your arm.

Dear Product Marketing Stalker:

I see you.  And hear you yapping at me while I am standing in the cereal aisle trying to buy a box of flakes.  I have made an effort to come to the food side of your discount store early this morning to avoid the onrush of carts going up and down aisles crashing into each other, children screaming because they don’t like walking, and blue-tooth clad idiots that ignore me and take the last carton of Half and Half as I reach for it.  The early morning hours of shopping are less stressful or they were until you decided to critique my breakfast choices.

Me: (reaching for a box of Honey Nut Cheerios)

You: Unh-Unh.

Me: (looking in your direction wondering if that noise was meant for me.)

You: (smiling) Ma’am, we make the same product for half the cost.  You should really choose our Circles of Honey.  Same company.  Same cereal, you know what I mean (wink).

Me: (smiling and thinking you’re just trying to be helpful.) Right. (I continue down the aisle looking for the right box)

You: (following me in your Jazzy Electric and almost hitting my shins) You don’t want that one either.  We’ve got this one that’s just as good.  Especially if you’re interested in fiber.

Me: (getting annoyed and realizing that I don’t want to discuss with you my interest in fiber) Thanks for the tips (Hoping you’ll go start your inventory on the pickle aisle and leave me alone).

You: May I suggest our Vampire Choco-Bones?  Goes over great with the kids.

Me: No!  Do you see children with me?  Do you think I just left them in the car?  In the trunk, perhaps?  I don’t have children.  And look at this box.  A vampire with bloody teeth eating brown bones from a bowl.  How does that make any sense?  What makes you think that this, THIS is the cereal for a woman like me?  What tipped you off?  Was it my pale skin?  My dead eyes?  My fangs?!

At this point, I notice the other woman walking the aisle with her small son sitting in the cart.  I look at him and say, “Don’t judge me with your judging eyes.”  You see?  You made me take my aggravation with you out on an innocent albeit a somewhat beady-eyed child.  And now my eczema is attacking up.  Is this your idea of customer service?  Bugging a customer to the point of verbally slaying a little kid and causing skin rash break-outs?  He’s probably going to grow up to be a serial killer because of your pushyness.  Now, I’ll have to send him twenty bucks every year on his birthday to remind him not to kill me. 

So thanks, but no thanks for all of your “help.”

Insincerely,

~Your No. 1 Fan if by “Fan” you mean “Someone Who Hates You.”

[I like to call this “slightly stretched truth.” Some call it fiction.  We’ll call it fiction based on a true story, okay?]

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© Alissa C. Miles and "And So They Did...", 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material including pictures from posts and/or other pages without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alissa C. Miles and "And So They Did..." with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Basically, don't steal my stuff. Thanks. -A.

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