My daughter was three years old. It was her first year of Sunday School and Christmas was on its way. I picked her up from class and she asked, “You know all about Kristen, right Mom?’
“Who’s Kristen, Honey?”
“You know, from Sunday School.”
“A girl in your class?”
“No, the one who makes leaves and sticks. She lives at the North Pole… or South America. I forget. She has a lot of houses. Her birthday is Christmas.”
“Do you mean Jesus?”
“That’s it — Jesus. Her last name is God, right?’
Not sure what I was thinking. Guess I wasn’t. There I was… standing amidst a sea of black and chrome and suddenly it occurred to me… pink was a strange color choice to wear to the biker expo.
I expected to be the only one without a tattoo. I even expected to be the only with blond highlights but it never occurred to me that I would be the only one not wearing black. Could have gotten away with navy or brown but nooo… I decide to wear pink. There was one other person there in pink… my daughter.
As we walked proudly past the Hell’s Angels’ recruitment table, I thought to myself, “That’s right, you wear your colors and we’ll wear ours.”
I am such a rebel.
We’re heading off to the Jersey shore. What to bring… thong bikini or skirted one-piece? The bikini will go better with my orange Crocs but I already got the lime green toe polish to match the horizontal stripes around the suit. So I’ll take the one-piece… maybe not. I can’t jog in my one piece. There’s no place to put my Walkman. It tucks so nicely down the front of my bikini bottom.
Kinda gives new meaning
to the term secret service
when you find him hiding
in the back corner of the
I guess he should have turned off
the flashing light?