Having one girl in a house of boys is a breathe of fresh air.
Whereas the boys play yu-gi-oh, cars and beat each other up, my daughter wants to play dolls, games and cook. Granted she can get bossy with her friends and whining moves into an art form. Last week she performed her first “You guys hate me” melt-down because I demanded she come home at the time I set for her.
Then there are those times are totally sweet and endearing, like last Friday night.
One of our friends was having a birthday party for his wife, her fiftieth birthday, at a bowling alley on the near-north side of Chicago. The pizza was great with margarita, ham and pineapple, veggie and pepperoni varieties. The table also held chicken wings from mild to ‘OMG-my-lips-are-burning’ hot. The specialty drink was a pineapple-infused vodka.
We were happy to be with friends, especially the ones whose daughter is about the same-age as our daughter. They get along well and as it turns out have the same taste in music. As the night went along, we found out there was going to be a karaoke time.
Yes, I partook in the karaoke but only after sipping on that pineapple-infused vodka (tasty).
Now the girls had been hanging out with us and looking at the karaoke list. disappointment came when the could not find Miley Cyrus, Hannah Montana or Taylor Swift. I would say something else that was close but not for these girls.
So people went up and down. Some of us were great, some bad and all having a great time. The girls, after a break in the game room, decided they were going to sing their song no matter what. However, they did not want anyone to see them. No way, no how. That is when A’s mom suggested they go under the table.
We were sitting next to the stage. Plus, the microphone had a long wire. It could be done. All it took was someone getting the mic and handing it to them, which I did.
The next thing that happens is the sound of girls singing but there are no bodies on the stage. They work through “You Belong With Me” in kid-flawless fashion and sound cute. Everyone else in the room is looking around to see where are the singers. A’s mom and I are pointing our fingers under the table and clued-in adults smile.
Someone comes around with a camera and takes their picture but they keep going. Once the song is done, the girls hand back the mic and pretend it wasn’t them.
We left soon after but not before our girl gives A a goodbye hug.
We drove home admiring the city lights. By the time we had left downtown Chicago, the kids were leaning on each other passed out and the husband was sound asleep on my right.
It is what one calls perfection.