When it was time to play “beauty salon” I was their guinea pig. I can’t tell you how many times I’d forget what they had done to me and would head off to the grocery store with clips in my hair, makeup smeared on my face with and well coordinated nail polish.
The looks I would get in the checkout line.
On their birthdays we would decorate the van with paint, streamers, and balloons and on the back window it would say “honk for the birthday girls”. They would count each and every honk throughout the day and write down the total so they could compare it to the year before.
I can still hear them say “when I grow up, I want to marry you”.
They thought my tricks were truly magical.
Now they are young women, no longer little girls, they don’t makeup my face, they won’t let me decorate the van, and they certainly don’t want to marry me.
Now they’re so hip it hurts, it’s all about boys (the Jonas Brothers to be specific), and they talk in three letter acronyms like – IDK (I don’t know), OMG (Oh MY God), and JK (just kidding).
They will be coming down stairs shortly and I’ll take them out for “breakfast with dad”, but I won’t see those hip young women.
I’ll see my little girls, getting into a decorated van, and I’ll start counting the honks.
