peevish mama

This morning Supergirl and Saint James were perched at the laptop while I got their breakfasts together when I heard Supergirl say Hey, google pole dancer! Even in my undercaffeinated state of grog, I whirled around with a snap. What? What? Everyone FREEZE! I blame my yelling “freeze” on the fact that Doctor Dash and I just finished watching Season 2 of The Wire last night. I may even have pointed a frozen waffle at their foreheads, but I holstered it pretty damn quick. The two of them actually kind of look like each other when they are giving me “the look.” You know what I mean. The look you might give a monkey dressed in bell bottoms and a fake beard running around with a butcher knife – like, is this funny or is this serious?

Me: WHY do you want to google pole dancer?

Supergirl: (with eye roll) Just to look at one.

Me: WHY do you want to look at a pole dancer?

Supergirl: I don’t know. pause pause. I like them.

Me: What? Why? WHAT? WHY? Why do you say you like pole dancers?

Supergirl: I don’t know, you know. And here she hops off the stool and starts doing a little soft shoe number and jazz hands in her pajamas, singing da na na na bum bum de bum pum . . .

Me: Are you tap dancing?

Supergirl: Ya, like those peanuts who wear suits. They dance with a pole.

Me: There’s only one of those guys. And that’s a cane.

Supergirl: Same thing.

Me: Not at all.