Occasion? Halloween, 1997. I was 7 months pregnant with Sarah.
Costume? One-armed Vietnam Vet.
Wife? Bambi, the hooker - aka Laurel - aka Chester.
Proud parents? It looks like we were, but I'm sure our parent's were not.
We were driving in the van a few nights back. Kate was in the front seat, and Sarah was in the back. Kate was so incredibly grouchy. Like insanely grouchy. I couldn't shake the grouchies from her, no matter what I did.
So, I tried harder.
CD #6 - Taylor Swift, Red. Song #4 - Trouble. Pump up the volume, pump up the volume, DANCE! DANCE!
Instead of pulling into our cul-de-sac, I kept driving around the neighborhood. She was still grouchy. So, I rolled down the windows - all of them. Still grouchy. So, I turned it up as loud as possible without blowing the speakers (actually, I think I blew one, but don't tell Neal). Still grouchy. So, I sang along as loud as I could. Still grouchy. So, I drove incredibly slow past all of the houses of people that she knew from school, while doing all of the above.
She cracked a smile. My work was done.
Sarah, meanwhile, was in the back seat, laughing so hard that she was slobbering. She did, however, duck her head down anytime we saw another car or person.
Speaking of Miss Taylor, on another fine day in the van, Kate turned to CD 6, song 6 - Taylor Swift 22. The beginning goes something like this: "It feels like one of those nights, to dress like hipsters. . . "
Abby said, "Ha! That's funny! She said 'It feels like one of those nights to dress like hamsters.'"
I said, "No, she said 'dress like hipsters.'"
Abby said, "Well, can we pet hipsters?"
You probably could, but they would most likely look up from their out-of-print book of Poetry Through the Ages, give their scarf a flick, push their glasses up their nose, give you a condescending look, and tell you that it's so mainstream to pet people.
Just like it's so mainstream to like Taylor Swift.