Spring is in the air which means the resurgence of green grass, tulips and the chubby girl down the street. It’s not nice to call a little girl chubby, but it’s better than many of the other words rolling around in my head, such as the acronym for “See You Next Tuesday!”
I hope I don’t see her next Tuesday or any other day that ends in “y” for that matter. She is annoying, bossy, not-so-cute, and my 5 year old adores her. He is puddy in her chubby little hands. I’ve learned to keep the back door locked because even if I tell her that Ben cannot play, she will enter when the coast is clear and start rifling through my pantry like a raccoon. Then she’ll find a cozy spot next to my boy and continue with her brainwashing until I make her leave. ”Okay, I’w weev, but whewe should I put this stem fwum this dewicious owganic apple that you just bowt at Whole Paycheck?” She always eats my over-priced, organic apples!
The worst part is that her absence is brief. It’s like she can sense when we step outside. I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve seen her dough-girl image in my car’s back-up camera, just standing at the end of the driveway like she doesn’t understand that the white lights mean she is about to be run over. It’s like something out of a Stephen King novel.
This relationship needs to end. I cannot handle the thought of this young courtship blossoming into a marriage where her scrunchie-wearing Mom gives a heartfelt speech about how she knew it was meant to be when they were just 2 years old. Why doesn’t he like the shy, cute neighbor girl next door? She’s not bossy. And I bet she likes conventional apples.
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