The Powers of Observation Have Arrived.

Dear Diary, 

     My three year old has reached the point where her intelligence and powers of observation are ruining our lives. 

     She and I had popped in to a lab so I could have some blood tested. I was filling out some papers when the lady helping me on the other side of the counter began to talk. It was clear to me that she was a tomboy, and possibly a lesbian. She had pixie cut hair, tattoos crawling up her neck out of her scrubs, rough jargon, and a picture of a woman in a frame on her desk. This did not bother me, but I am fairly observant by nature and happened to notice these things.

    My daughter, who is a whopping 36 inches tall, could not see over the counter top. So she yhistered (this is a mix between a yell and a whisper, something that 99% of children have down to a science) to me, "MOM. I want to see that lady!" The lady said, "You can come around and see me if you want!" So my daughter took a peek around the corner and got a glance of this mysterious woman. As she came back to me, she looked up and yhistered, "IT'S NOT A LADY, MOM. IT'S A MAAAAAN." 

                       This was my face...

     Once the moment of shock had passed, I gathered my chi and replied to her, "That's not a man, silly. She just has short hair. She's smart to have short hair, because it's toooooo hot for long hair in Arizona." -***Says the girl with Rapunzel hair. I've been known to take a few risqué selfies and text them to my husband during the day because my hair is long enough to cover my breasts pectoral muscles. But that's a story for another day. 

     The next day, this same child and I were finishing up our weekly trip to the grocery store. As I was mulling over regular, low fat or no fat cottage cheese, I hear a man wheeling a large pallet of inventory to the back room behind the dairy section. This man was Hispanic, had perfectly combed over hair and was quite obviously short. I look over at my daughter, who was driving the cart. (***See Exhibit A)

          

                    ***Exhibit A. The carts that feel more like Greyhound buses. The ones where, if you aren't a perfectly excellent driver, you will get wedged into the edge of the aisle where you'll basically need a crane to pull you out of your terrible situation. 

     I watched her as she followed him with her eyes when he walked by, craning her head out the window of her fancy car(t). Then she yelled, "YOU'RE SOOO LITTLE!" 

     I wasn't sure what had happened, but I found myself both shocked and entertained all at once. I turned around as to not face the man my 3 year old human had just insulted, and I stared down the coffee creamer (I don't even drink coffee) making a face similar to this one, I'm sure of it. 

                       "Are you kidding me...?"

     So to all of those who will one day come in contact with my daughter, just know I will be working on that brain-to-mouth filter thing everyone talks about. But she is my child, so I can't make too many promises. 

Sincerely, 

Me. Embarrassed Mom.