Kid Stories

For some reason Sundays remind me of my childhood and one little leap beyond that came a couple of memories of some of the conversations I've had with other people's children over the years. Hey, just because I don't have any kids doesn't mean I don't get to tell stories. Feel free to add your own. (Don't worry, nephews, there's nothing embarrassing about you guys here. Unless you want to share something.)

Rebecca
Rebecca is the eldest child of the couple who owned the house next to ours when we lived in town. The houses were literally so close together we could pass each other the ketchup over the alley. Sometimes I'd look out the window and see Rebecca watching our television from her living room (she was not permitted to watch television) Anyhow, she was all of about four when this happened. I was going out to dinner with my mother and grandmother (who was up from Florida for a visit). We'd agreed that they would swing by and pick me up, as the restaurant we'd chosen was fairly close to my house. Since it was a nice day, I was waiting for them on our front steps, and since I was running a little late, I stuck what few cosmetics I used in my bag and planned on finishing up my "toilette" al fresco. I pulled out my pressed powder compact (MAC, ivory, in case anyone's interested) and started patting the sponge over my face. Rebecca had been playing in the side yard and came over. She asked what I was doing. I said I was making myself beautiful. She took a long look at my face. Then said, "It's not working."

The Girl Up The Hill (name withheld to protect the innocent)
Our neighbors here on the hill are wonderful. One family, knowing we don't usually do anything for Christmas dinner, often invited us over. They are very religious, and we're not, which is not a problem, but the traditions are very different for me. They say grace before meals, and there's a lot of talk about God. They're great people and I always feel honored that they'd share their holidays with us. Anyhow...one Christmas we'd said grace, the food was passed, we'd started to eat. I don't know how the conversation took this turn, but it seems like it came out of nowhere. Their little innocent daughter looked up at me and asked, "How many men did you go through before you found your husband?"

I think I kind of stuttered something about not really going through men, but...

Then she said, "Because my mom went through seventeen guys before she married my dad."