Playing Yahtzee with a 6 year old means laying on the kitchen floor, drinking coffee and eating cookies, and watching her roll the dice and drawing on the score pads. It’s always her turn, but who cares as long as the coffee’s on?
If you’re 6 years old, a waffle is just a vehicle for a lot of butter and a little syrup.
I bought my kid some Legos for Christmas along with the girly stuff, and she looked at it and said “that’s a boy present.” So 5 hours later, when we were just about done playing nonstop with the Legos, and this Lego house we were building kept falling apart for some reason, I was getting fed up and started saying “I hate this Lego house, I wish I’d never got these Legos, this house is Satan!”, and my daughter pointed out, “no it’s not, it’s Legos.” I guess anything frustrating that you stay with too long seems evil, till you leave it for later or solve it finally.
In an advice column the other day, they were asking Dear Abby or whoever what to do about saying “Merry Christmas” to people who you don’t know the religion of. I say fuck ’em, it’s their problem if they want to be a minority religion. The lady who wrote was wondering if it was okay to ask if they were Christian or Jewish or what. Yeah, that won’t take what little magic there is out of it. Even lamer are the decorations that say “Season’s greetings.” That’s like saying “warm wishes, honey” to your wife instead of “I love you.” And asking someone to clarify their situation before you greet, or slam, them takes the fun out of it too: “Is your mom alive and healthy? Yeah, well that’s good, because when I left her bed the other night she was crying that she wants you to write more.” No zing to it. Of course it would have helped me the time that I asked a Southern transplant coworker “so, is it true all you Carolina boys are real close to their mothers?”, and he told me in all seriousness, “my folks are both dead.” Score one for me being an idiot.
Happy winter gift-giving time!!