Drunken Baby

There are different martial arts styles--Taijiquan, Wushu--but the one I'm talking about is Drunken Style. Well, because my life cannot exist without references to other things, no matter how remote, this is what I was thinking of the other day. Caveat: not my fault! My husband brought it up first and since he is, amongst other things, a certifiable Kung Fu master and to his credit, he never ever talks about it, and so he thought of it.

It began when I woke up. These days, it’s been gloriously “late”—all of 7 am, whoohoo! I mean, hey, it is something to celebrate when one isn’t able to fall asleep until after one or two in the morning. And is then constantly woken up throughout the night by The Call of the Fat when what one wants is The Silence of the Fat.

At any rate, I walked down the stairs and immediately, I mean immediately when the cute Fatty espied me, she began to celebrate. First, she shook her fat up and downwhile sitting on her cute, fat butt, primarily because she is still a bit unsteady on two feet. For that I say thank heaven! Then she swished her legs back and forth on the floor as if they were wipers on a windshield. That is if wipers could be cute, fat, and stubby. And have cute little fat monkey feet attached to them. With exceedingly fat ankles that have folds. But it's a good analogy as far as it goes in terms of motion.  I knew that my job was to sit down and make my lap available. Which I did. She promptly crawled towards me very excitedly, mind, and proceeded to propel herself into my lap.

You can guess what happened next. She missed. In her excitement, she overshot my lap. Also her fat makes her top heavy. So instead, she tipped over on her face. Then she squealed, righted herself, and plopped her fat butt in my lap. You see what I have to put up with?

I observed that she was like a kitty curling up in a lap but rather than purring she was squealing as only babies can do. Charming the pants off me to boot.

My husband observed that she resembled a drunk. A cute drunk. A cute fat drunk. But a drunk, nevertheless. Drunken Baby Style, he called it. No, wait a minute, that was my mind simply elaborating on it.

Honestly.

I am training her now to "ignore daddy." My other daughter already understands daddy is a smarty. She enjoys smacking his butt when he has displayed this quality. It runs in the family.