Today while coming home from taking the boy to school, I landed behind a very long line of cars stopped at a left turn only red light. So while the strands of “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting” by Elton John wafted through my car speakers, bored,  I took a peak into my rear view mirror. In the car directly behind me were two women, one, presumably the mother and the other, her teenage daughter. The “Mom” was quite animated, flailing her hands while she went on and on about something while her “daughter” looked forward, not wanting to give her mother the satisfaction of looking at her. My first thought was “Mom, she ain’t listening to you” before giving way to, “I wonder if that’s what the doll looks like when I’m talking to her in the car…?” only to be followed quickly by “I wonder if that’s what I look like…Yikes!!”

Thankfully, I didn’t have to ponder those thoughts very long because a short moment later, the light turned green and I was able to make my left hand turn and head toward home.


“Mom your killing me with this music!!” the doll said to me Friday night. We had returned from the football game and I was in the mood to rock out to some great classic rock while she on the other hand, was in interested in listening to more contemporary rock and roll. As a means to compromise, I put “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin and asked her to listen and then tell me what she thought. After a minute or two she said, “They are too slow…” “What?” I asked confused. “Mom that guitar is too slow. I need it to be moving much faster.” “Oh ye poor doll…” I said finding it difficult to process what she said. “Too slow?” I said again, almost wounded by her reply. “Mom, I like faster, newer music, sorry you’re stuck in the 70’s”.  Wounded again I replied, “Perhaps that’s beause the 70’s produced way better music than any decade since!” “Doubt it!” She replied before stepping out of the room. “Eighties music was fun too..” My husband offered. “Shhh…who invited you into this argument?” I said before looking back at him apolgeticly.



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