Princessless

So something else I heard at the fair…

I was walking into the barn down at the far end and was pulled up short by the crowd, so I changed gears, slowed down and listened to the people around me. I spotted a nice little family, dad, mom, a baby in the carriage, and a little big sister about eight or ten. Dad looks like he can build things with his hands, I like that, and maybe they have shopped at Cabellas a couple of times. Mom is nice looking, wouldn’t expect her to be overly sweet and she is no “mean girl”. Nice family.

Dad says to eager daughter, “Now honey, there are a lot of really neat things in here, but a lot of dangerous things too. So you need to stay right by us and not run ahead. Okay. Princess.”

Needle on vinyl scratch again. Uck.

Take all those notions back. Dad probably won’t shop any where but Cabellas and he is the only one who knows how to fly fish and hunt the right way. Mom most likely never leaves anything out that isn’t being used, helps people all the time but never needs help herself and is never more than two pounds off ideal. But then with a husband like “perfect man” what else would you be like.

By the time I get to our booth at the other end of the barn I am ever so glad Dirt never called his girls “princess.” What a horrible thing for them to live up to or live with. How do you spell spoiled and out of control? P-r-i-n-c-e-s-s. Thanks for not being, or think you are, a knuckle scraper Dirt.