So at my childcare job (which ends Friday, hallelujah-praise-Jesus), I have a shadow in the form of a leggy, befreckled 8-year-old girl. For the sake of this post, I’ll call her Shelly.
Shelly adores me, apparently. Regardless of where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing (or what she’s supposed to be doing, for that matter), she simply must gasp upon seeing me, exclaim “MISS FRANKIE!!!” and run at me with gangly arms extended to give what I’m beginning to think is a purposefully rib-crushing hug. She loves me so much she wants to squish me, I do believe.
But though Shelly has taken to claiming me the “best teacher EVURR” (a title I do not deserve, as my patience with her age group is always painfully threadbare), she still finds it enjoyable to examine every aspect of my being. Examine it...and criticize it.
I’ve gotten used to this phenomenon since working with kids; apparently there comes a point when the baby-chillens turn on you, and it seems that point is around birthday number 8. And in her defense Shelly has said some nice things to me…she recently told me I was “skinny” and had “really white teeth,” although when I thanked her for it she said “why would you take that as a compliment?” Fail. So for your enjoyment (and because these gems of verbal battery lose some of their vicious sting when repeated), I give you:
My Favorite Kid Quotes, A la Shelly
Shelly: Miss Frankie, why are you going to South Carolina?
Me: To see my cousin get married.
Shelly: How old is your cousin?
Shelly: (pause) He’s younger than you?
Shelly: (pause) He’s getting married and he’s younger than you?
Shelly: (pause) How sad. You must be reeeally jealous!
Shelly: (pointing to my “Gucci” bag) Is that real, Miss Frankie?
Shelly: Is your Gucci purse real?
Me: (stunned that an 8-year-old knows about Gucci) Well, what do you think?
Shelly: (pauses, looks me up and down, pauses) I think you’re way too poor to have a real Gucci purse.
Shelly: Where do you live, Miss Frankie?
Me: Here in Norman.
Shelly: In a house?
Shelly: You live in a house alone? And you’re twenty-five?
Shelly: Do you have a boyfriend, Miss Frankie?
Shelly: So you live in a house, alone, and you’re twenty-five and you don’t have a boyfriend?
Shelly: (patting me on the back) I bet you’re very lonely.
And my personal favorite:
Shelly: Miss Frankie, have you ever been to jail?
Me: No, I have not.
Shelly: Do you want to go to jail?
Me: No, I do not.
Shelly: How come?
Me: Jail is not a place most people want to go, Shelly.
Shelly: But it’d be exciting.
Shelly: Yes it would. You know it would.
Shelly: So you’re telling me you think that this right here- what you’re doing with your life right now….(dramatic pause, points around the room at countless whining, crying, sniffling baby-chillens)…is more exciting to you than being in jail?
She may be a minion of the Antichrist...but dammit, she has a point.