With the exception of one or two instances in my life, I am exceptionally good at reading people.
I can sense when people are getting annoyed with my kids in public.
I know when my waiter is going to put pubic hair in my food.
I can tell when the woman dressed as the Chiquita Banana lady painting my kid’s face at a birthday party has a penis.
It might be the year of the rabbit, but for me, it’s been the summer of the childhood entertainer.
Unlike my last encounter with a face painter, this one was really talented, had a huge portfolio of varying shapes of work, razor burn down her entire back, a huge Adam’s apple, and you could see the bulge of her wiener through her thin red costume skirt.
She was there with her partner Oren, who was wiccan, 1/4000th Cherokee, and a balloon sculptor. He was super good at swords, flowers and spirit animals.
Like during most hectic life scenarios, Andy was on his iPhone.
(This is why we don’t have a reality show, Andy. Because nobody wants to see you trying to sound like a thug on your cell phone while I accidentally burn the house down trying to cook that retro tin foil popcorn thing on the stove top that you always tell me I’m not allowed to buy because it’s dangerous.)
So there I was. Wyatt morphing into Batman, Jude getting a Kung Fu balloon sword on the condition he uses it to promote peace, and Gigi choking and gagging up slices of apple into my hand. It’s like she doesn’t even know how fruit works, and I am the worst mother ever.
Apples have skin, you say? Why, I thought they only came in little fried pies!
By the time Andy finally wanders in, our trio of characters is almost complete, and even though I would definitely need him to help me move the furniture in our bedroom later because the tall dresser near the door makes it too hard to tell if there are intruders coming into my room at night, I decided that giving him the silent treatment for a bit was the best course of action for abandoning me during what was clearly tranny-pagan family time.
So, Andy has this daddy voice that he uses in situations where he wants to sound awesomer at parenting than I am, like when he waltzes through the door after work and I am on the living room floor crying in my bathrobe with pen all over my face.
Hey munchkins, did ya miss me? Let me just grab that ink pen from you because we should all know better than to play with ink pens, right mommy? Now come here ya little angels and let me scoop you up, you’re so cute I could just eat ya.
Or when he explains to me that the tasks that I seem to think are difficult, are actually super easy.
Welp, look at that mommy. We just peed, pooped, washed our hands, raised the debt ceiling, and ended rape and famine in the Sudan right there in the bathroom. Easy peasy, huh little Gigi Marie. Tell mommy, I’m a big girl and I don’t need those stupid pull-ups anymore, because I can go potty all on my own, we don’t understand what all that struggle was about, huh tickle bug, com’ere so daddy can give you little monkey tickles.
Today Andy used his daddy voice.
Andy: Whoa Batman, you all look amazing, how cool are your faces! So ma’am, how long have you been doing this?
Gosh, for a couple years now. I own a make up studio, and it’s just so fun working with kids, ya know?
Andy: I bet , so do you have kids of your own then?
Oh my God.
No, ha ha, no kids. I was just telling your wife, we have 12 cats, but they are like our kids, aren’t they Oren?
Oren: I swear a couple of them are relatives of mine from another life, it’s spooky, I can have entire conversations with them about my ancestry, going back as far as when my family’s people owned this very land I’m standing on making balloon animals.
I’m on acid right now, right?
Andy: Well, you should have kids, I know I would have thought it was cool to have my face painted all the time by my mom.
Oh I don’t know, I don’t want to lose this girlish figure of mine, right? *giggle*
Andy: Nah, I’m sure you’ll look fine.
Are they, like, flirting right now?
I squeeze Andy’s hand so that he looks at me, and I tell him with my retinas, she has testicles, babe. She’s a man.
He doesn’t get it.
Wyatt hopped down from the chair, and as I handed her a tip, she slipped me her card.
I also sell sell Mary Kay, sweetie, I can totally help you with your make-up situation.
Did I just get slammed by a man with a clip on pony-tail dressed like Carmen Miranda?
We stumbled outside into the muggy air, and the kids took off toward the tire swing.
What were you trying to tell me in there, you just kept staring at me all mean faced?
Were you upset I was being playful with her? Getting all jealous?
The face painter’s a dude, Andy. She has a penis. That’s what I was trying to tell you. Her girlish figure? Includes a cock.
Shut up, seriously?
See this headshot on her business card? She looks like Latoya Jackson in a sailor outfit doing a military salute, and it says her name is Miss Rick’E Go-Go. So yeah, not incredibly effective in the whole make me jealous in an attempt to turn me on department.
I guess I’ll have to win you over another way when we get home tonight.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him over to run it against the grain of my calf.
Yikes, after you shave that is.
That stubble right there is braille for I’m On my Period.
Andy may have had a crappy and sexually confusing day, but the kids had an absolute blast.
This is the best party ever, can we live here!?
I’m totally hiring Miss Go-Go for their birthday parties next year.
So, that give Andy eight whole months to work on his game.