Somebody remind me that I'm no longer a superhero. Drinking all the gin on a Friday night when I've got to be up at 6am the following morning for work isn't the best idea.

This afternoon during my lunch stroll I was humming along to some Lemonheads on the ol'Kazoo-pod when I stopped for traffic at the same time as a little girl (eightish) on a bicycle. Just your "average" little girl wearing jeans & tennis shoes & a dark grey sweatshirt with a frowning bulldog on the front of it. Over the jeans though, she had on a bright & shiny, full pink skirt (not quite knee length) with a net petticoat underneath so that it puffed out a bit like a princess' might.

I pulled off my headphones, shot her a smile & complimented the skirt, "nice skirt, it goes great with those jeans."

She looked a bit sheepish beneath her shaggy bangs & smiled quickly back at me, wrinkling her freckled nose. "My mom made me wear it," she offered with a hint of disgust in her gruff little defiant voice... & then with even more gruff defiance, "I'm a tomboy."

I couldn't help but let a little giggle escape as I let her know, "So am I... my boss made me wear this skirt." (we aren't allowed to wear blue jeans at work, oi the hell of it)

Then we went our seperate ways, but she rode back & forth in front of our store for a good fifteen minutes, popping little wheelies & such, apparently grateful for our minor exchange of words & rewarding me with these little feats of wonder.

Some days I realize that having a kid might not mean the end of the world... just the world as I know it.

Some days I realize that it would be wonderful to be eightish again & that having a child of my own might be the only way to achieve it.

:blowing my speakers: The Lemonheads ~ Hannah & Gabi
:feeding my head: Latest issue of Filter
:rotting my brain: Pulp Fiction
:sparking my imagination: eightish year olds with pink skirts & wheelie popping skills

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