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••• Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Morning Spa with The Cakers
Sunday morning, I took The Cakers upstairs with me, to hang out while I practiced some hygiene.

After showering, I commenced with the deforestation of pubelike follicles from my forehead. The Cakers came up and watched a minute, then handed me the wand of undereye concealer. "Here Momma. Butter your eyes." Awww Baby...Butter my heart!

She toddled off, then returned, carrying a tube-shaped, handheld electric appliance. It's running. Without even looking, I know what she holds. I'd know that gritty, grindy hum anywhere.

"Momma? What's this?"
hmmmmm...
"Momma? Is this for you?"
"Ahhh...Yes, honey, that's for me."

I should've been ready for this one. In fact, the last couple times I used this humming handful, I thought about finding a better spot. To hide. It.

Now it was too late. Alarmed and ashamed, my mind raced in multiples. What should I say? What should I do? How does one tell an innocent child that her Momma has a nasty little secret, a horrible habit, a precarious proclivity?

This alluringly alliterative internal diatribe was soon enough interrupted.

"Dora Explorer toothbrush for Ana?!"

"No Honey, I told you, it's for momma." ::gulp:: Here it comes....a Sunday Morning Hairy.

"Too loud! Turn it off!" She says, and sets it on the counter.

That's it? Hot Damn!

Okay. So I stole a Christmas present from my daughter. And yes, I was prepared to lie about it. And yes, I'm the lowest of the low. The sickest of the sick. With the whitest of pearly whites. And I regret not one pearly twirl.

How the story goes:
Last Christmas, at some gathering, we each received a disposable, electric toothbrush. These brushes had been stashed away in a bathroom drawer until recently, when my husband tried his out and loved it. He then convinced me to try mine.

Seven minutes and a mouthful of stimulation later, I was hooked. Every night after, I whirled and twirled and bopped and buffed until my teeth glistened and my gums turned to steak tartare.

Then last week, mid-buff, the charge ran out. What was I gonna do?
Panicked and desperate, I picked up my husband's tool and gave it a quick sniff and a ponder. Uh...no. I might be sick...I'm not that sick.

While rifling through the vanity drawers, I found her. Dora. Sweet, petite, bi-lingual perfection. Carrying a full charge.

"No! That belongs to The Cakers!" I railed, as I gnawed through the plastic bubble and cardboard encasement.

Hola! Dora.

But it's not yours.....
But Cakers' is afraid of noises....
But she can use it without the power....
But I can buy her another one, a better one.......
But you're stealing.....a present....from a baby....
But she has lots of cool stuff, I never get anything.....
But you're the momma.......
Butzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
# posted by Marcia @ 7:36 AM


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