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She Ended Our Playdate When My Daughter Made It Weird
Some people can’t handle a comedian
“Mommy, what’s his name?” My three-year-old daughter asked as she pointed to a picture of a rabbit in her book.
“I don’t know, Sweetie,” I said as I shuffled on the tiny green plastic chair.
“What about his name?” She asked, pointing to an owl.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t tell us their names,” I replied while scanning the library for a chair made for humans.
“Well, what is his name then?” My daughter asked with a hint of exasperation as she pointed to a mouse.
I have never cared about anything less.
“Sweetie. They don’t have names. The book is about Lewis the lamb. All the other animals are just in the picture because Lewis is walking through the forest and they happen to be there. Ok?” I said, trying to keep the fuck off tone out of my voice.
“But what are their names?” She asked while gritting her teeth in frustration.
How many times are we allowed to scream in a library? I feel like two a day would be appropriate.
“Fine!” I snapped. “The rabbit is called Colin, the owl is called Krystal with a K, and the mouse is…
