Well, God love it.
(Between my daughter and my nieces, I am going to die or end up in prison for dude-burying.)
I immediately dialed her number to chat.
(Because that’s what girls do when they find out another girl has been ditched.)
After we yammered with a little small talk, I shot straight to point.
Me: “So. What’d he say?”
(How damn old am I?)
Hanna: “Just that it was summer and all and that since I’m going to a different school next year we won’t see each other much and well, you know.”
Me: “Was he ugly to you? And don’t you cover for him. WAS HE UGLY TO YOU?”
Hanna: “No. Why?”
Me: “CAUSE I’LL ROUGH HIM UP LIKE HE’S NEVER KNOWN BEFORE IF HE WAS UGLY! I’LL BE KICKING HIS BUTT UP AND DOWN THE ROAD FOR DAYS! WE’LL RUMBLE…THAT LITTLE PUNK WON’T KNOW WHAT HIT HIM AND HE’LL BE BEGGING YOU TO PULL ME OFF OF HIM!”
(How DAMN old am I?)
(I was just kidding. Kinda. Really just trying to make her snicker.)
Hanna: “Uh, Aunt Carrie…I’m fine. Really. And you don’t even know him. We’re still friends…geeze. And he’s 12. I don’t think somebody YOUR age can get away with roughing up a 12 year-old.”
(My age?? Excuse me? MY age?)
Me: “OK…I’ll call and check on you later. I love your face.”
We hung up.
(I don’t remember being quite so calm and collected when I was 12 years old. Much less when I was just ditched by a dude.)
(What I do remember is trying to kick him in the stupid boy parts and flipping him off.)
(With the wrong finger nevertheless, but he totally knew what I meant.)
This summer, Hanna is taking this science-y, smart kid, robotics-y, science-y, bunsen burner-y, kind of science-y camp-class-thing this week.
(I can’t count to 10 and am amazed by steam. She don’t get her smarts from moi.)
I texted her a couple of days later to see how it was going:
(Once again, I immediately called.)
Me: “Hey…so it was good? You’re having fun?”
Hanna: “Yeah. It’s just me and 4 other boys.”
Me: “4 other boys?!? Are they hot?”
(How damn OLD am I?)
Hanna: “Do what? NO! Oh, my God! Are you kidding?? Aunt Carrie, what is WRONG with you?!?”
(Well, there’s a loaded question the best of shrinks ain’t been able to answer.)
She starts laughing. Giggling. Girly-squealing. HeeHeeHee-ing. High pitch talking.
(Which tells me at least one of these mongrels in her camp is hot.)
Me: “Sooo….what do y’all actually do in this robotics camp? Walk around all morning like robots and stuff? You know there’s a dance called The Robot, huh? I can teach you!”
Hanna: “Are you kidding me? Is that what you think I do at robotics camp all morning?? How old ARE you?”
Me: “I don’t know what you do…I’m not all robotic-ky and stuff!”
Hanna: “I love you, Aunt Carrie…you always make me laugh.”
You know, I work in a professional atmosphere. I hang with professional business people all day long. I conduct myself in a professional manner.
(When the big boss is around.)
(And when I’m not making fart sounds at my desk.)
(Who doesn’t like a good fart sound, I ask?)
But something happens when it comes to my nieces and boys.
Pray for them.
(And remind me to make sure they know it’s the middle finger.)