There’s one promise I can make you today, right now.
I will never, ever curl my eyelashes.
Especially in my Pontiac Grand-Am, as I roll down highway 4-85.
Especially on the morning commute. (This happened, with a fellow motorist. Sixty-five-plus MPH, with an eyelash curler clipped one eye, then the other. I can judge and give dirty looks, even though when I eat animal cookies while I drive, I look down to see what animal it is, out of respect – for the animal.)
So, a strange thing happened in the car not long ago.
No, it wasn’t that I shared my snacks with the kids. I’ve done that before. No, on this day, Elise turned down the volume on the song (it was probably Europe or AC/DC, but it could have been Cher Lloyd) on the radio, and asked me about the government shutdown.
It’s happened more often lately, too.
Talk about science, gigabit Internet, the Affordable Healthcare Act. Planets. Animals. Senators. It’s pretty cool. And on Halloween day at school, a little girl asked Grace what I do at work (by my costume, the kid guessed that I worked at Little Caesar’s). Grace’s answer?
You know, like me being like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc or Aphrodite. And then kinda like Roseanne Barr, Sarah Palin and Kate Gosselin. (They never seem to write songs about dudes in history, do they?)
Dads are always saying “do as I say, not as I do,” but I won’t whitewash my innate contradictions that way.
I am complex. Whether it’s onion preferences or talk radio habits or sports experience, I am the exception to my own rules. There’s nothing wrong with that. Even Kate Gosselin has a little Aphrodite in her.