People let me tell you 'bout my best friend,
He's a warm hearted person
who'll love me till the end.
People let me tell you bout my best friend,
He's a one girl cuddly toy,
my up, my down, my pride and joy.
People let me tell you 'bout him
he's so much fun
Whether we're talkin' man to woman
or whether we're talking Dad to Daughter.
Cause he's my best friend.
Yes he's my best friend.
Pretty damn good for a 1 year old if I do say so myself.
Maggie and I got to hang out all day Sunday because Amy went to visit that crazy city that never sleeps. No not NYC, I'm talking about the thriving metropolis of Frostburg, MD. Her niece was having a sorority function on inspirational women and so the estrogen train (Amy, her Mom and her sister) rolled out from DC. Unfortunately, it rained so much I started gathering pairs of animals in the garage, but that didn't stop us from getting out of the house.
We opened the day with some lunch at Red Robin. I looked like the divorced father who had his kid for the weekend and was trying to score points by spoiling her. She had the balloon, the crayons, and my complete attention, what more could a one year old want? After a week of eating healthy, burying my face into a big, juicy, mushroom swiss burger was heaven. My brain went into the land of rainbows and unicorns and my fat cells screamed like little girls on a merry-go-round. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. Jesus, when did I start having this unhealthy relationship with food? Oh yeah, when I met Amy and she bought me McDonalds everyday for an entire summer. Damn you woman!
After lunch we headed to the grocery store. I had been going to the Giant because you can walk to it from my house, not that I do, but you could if you were a health nut, or a Mexican. The Giant gets the job done, but it is such a welfare experience. Example - Last week they had two grannysmith apples in the entire store, and they were jacked up. Maybe there was a cider convention in town and they had a crazy run on apples, but more likely they just have a shitty produce department. Mmmm cider. Ever had Dickens? Nothing my wife likes more than a hot Dickens Cider on a Sunday morning. (And no, that joke never gets old)
Since Maggie and I were having our 'love' day I decided to check out the Safeway up the road, and by up the road, I mean two miles from my house, so definitely not walking distance for this gringo. Walking in there was like Dorothy waking up in Oz. Everything was in color and all of the employees were munchkins, ok not all of them, just the guy stocking all of the bottom shelves, but what a difference from the black and white Kansas dust bowl world of the Giant. Their produce department was off the chain. Grannysmith apples as far as the eye could see, and the snosberries tasted like snosberries. I pulled out my list and quickly memorized it, because Maggie tends to eat it as we make the rounds. She eats so much ink, she actually pees blue, so when I see those diaper commercials where they pour blue liquid into the diaper, it makes perfect sense to me.
Back at the homestead, I took my position as the official spotter of the Crawford house. Maggie is in the stage where she walks where she can hold onto things and then crawls in the open space. I think she is training for the Pub Crawl Olympics in 2018. Her event is the pentathalon, drink, stumble, fall, crawl and vomit. I was on the pub crawl pentrathalon team in college, so hopefully she'll follow in her old man's footsteps. "C'mon Maggie, puke and ralley, puke and ralley!
Bath time. This can go one of two ways, she'll be happy as a pig in shit and play for hours, or she'll scream and try to stand up and get out every 19 seconds. Since it's our love day, Maggie obliges and plays until her skin looks like the old lady in the Shining. "Don't you ever go into room 237!" (Actually, it was room 217 in the book, but because the hotel where it was filmed didn't want people avoiding room 217, they asked Kubrick to change it. Thanks Google!)
Hold on a second. Sorry to interrupt this post, but I just found out that the song she wrote me is actually the words to the early 70's tv show "The Courtship of Eddie's Father". This plagiarism shit has to stop. The other day she handed me this poem:
A horse is a horse,
of course, of course,
And no one can talk to a horse of course
That is, of course, unless the horse
is the famous Mr. Ed.
I was so impressed that I sent it to my Dad and he told me it was the theme song to a 60's tv show called Mr. Ed. Sorry Super Nanny, but obviously the naughty chair isn't working. Last week her daycare workers called us in a panic because she was running around the room grabbing her heart and screaming "It's is the big one Grady!". I really think we need to take away her TV Land privileges for a week and see if that straightens her out.
Incessant rain, plagiarism and Redd Foxx imitations aside, the Moo and I had a great day. I can't even imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't found her in that dumpster last fall.
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