OK. Get this.
The nieces came to the work joint this week to have lunch with us.
“Us” being me (of course) and their mom…the smart sister.
(They think it’s all funny they’re out of school and WE have to work. Whatever.)
(Yes, the smart sister and I work at the same company. Again, whatever.)
They’re 11 and 12. And as you can imagine, they feel they know most everything there is to know about most everything there is to know about.
And you know how kids, just before they hit that pubertyish stage, get all greasy-headed, odorish and just kinda gross if you don’t stay on top of them?
Yeah. These two have hit that stage.
But I did, too, back in my day.
I remember mom barking crap like, “Did you even brush the back of that head?”
Uh, no. Nobody sees it from the front.
And stuff like, “You don’t think you’re leaving this house looking like THAT, do you…young lady?”
Uh, no. I’m not wearing THIS shit anywhere. The really hot looking cool stuff is in this backpack and by backpack I mean ‘shoulder closet’ and I’m gonna change in the car as soon as I leave this joint.
Yeah. That kind of stuff.
The smart sister called them that morning to remind them to get cleaned up and be “presentable” (like they have a clue or even care what that is) when they came up.
“She” is all nice and motherly.
“I”…not so much.
I called later that morning and said, “Don’t be bringing a greasy head or some grimey ass clothes up here for these people I work with to look at you in.”
(It’s all about me.)
(And they know it.)
Our mom (their grandmother they lovingly refer to as “Nae Nae”…yeah, the sound a horse makes) was bringing them up for lunch so I had to get it in gear.
I got the ok from smart sister to do this. No way am I pissing those kids off at ME before a holiday.
When we have visitors at our work joint, they have to check-in with security guards at the front desk before they can come back into the building. They sign in on this sign-in book thing, get name badges…the whole crap.
So, I gave the security guards a little heads-up on their nearing arrival.
And requested they have the girls sign a “release form” before entering the building.
(Of course, as you might well imagine I know the security guards as I know most everyone in our building of several hundred people.)
(As timid and shy as I am…I get around.)
(Not like that.)
Here’s the “release form” they had to sign:
(That I made up.)
(Figuring it would chap their asses.)
(Because when you’re an aunt to two precious little pre-teens, you look for reasons to make them glare and swear at you under their breath.)
Surprisingly, they fell for it and signed the damn thing.
Giggling and laughing the whole time.
“I can’t believe people really have to fill this out!”
“Oh, my God! It’s asking about my underwear!”
They really thought it was legitimate and kept shaking their head.
(Should that be ‘heads’ or ‘head’?)
THE WHOLE TIME THEY WERE JUST-A CIRCLING ANSWERS.
Needless to say, they were released into the building and able to join us for lunch.
And Aunt Carrie bought them cookies.
Again. I’m good.
On a serious note, I love those two babies more than life. I have no children, so they’re it for me. And I would jump in front of a truck for them.
Well, only if they had completed a checklist.
Cause I ain’t going down for nasty underwear.