mini me

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I think I’ll call him Mini Me

Yesterday …

Katie and I are in the car on our way to pick up a couple of last-minute stocking stuffers for Luau.

She is drinking the coconut bubble tea that I just bought for her at lunch. It looks delicious. I ask for a sip. She hugs it to her chest and dramatically (and jokingly) says, “It’s mine. You can’t have any of it.”

“Hmm,” I say, “Is that so? Well, you’re mine and it’s yours, so therefore it’s actually mine.”

“You can’t own a person,” she says. “Slavery was all kinds of wrong and it’s over, so you can’t own me.”

“Fine,” I say. “But I still carried you inside my body for nine months, so I think that gives me some rights.”

“I’m still my own person,” she says.

“Yeah, well, I was itchy when I was pregnant with you,” I say, laughing. “And nauseous. Oy, was I nauseous.”

She looks at me out of the corner of one eye, takes a long draw of the bubble tea for emphasis, then issues her retort.

“Um, you gave me your anxiety issues, so I think it’s pretty safe to call it even.”

I may or may not have laughed my ass off, told her she was awesome, and then grabbed the damned bubble tea out of her hand to take my sip.

I’m screwed.

4 thoughts on “mini me

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