PART TWO IN THE ONGOING INSTALLMENT OF BORING BABY PICTURES
Ooooh, check out my shiny new kitchen. It was my very favorite toy/monstrosity during my third and fourth year. I would spend hours making culinary delights for my “dinner parties”, where the invisible elite would dine and discuss topics such as The Genius That Is Sesame Street.
My mom recently reminded me of a story regarding my shiny kitchen and a lovely exchange with one of my grandmothers at the ripe old age of three. First of all, let me give you a completely succinct background and in NO way an embodiment of my grandmothers’ complete essence*. Both are exceptional women- I couldn’t ask for a more loving, fabulous set.
Yet, they are very different. Mimi is a devout Southern Baptist, hasn’t had a sip of alcohol in her life, lives on acres of farmland, etc. She is hands-down the sweetest woman around. Shan is just as sweet, funny as hell, and most importantly introduced me to the majestic 5:00pm cocktail hour (which, according to my rules, can be adjusted to 4:00pm in winter due to daylight savings time).
One day, when Mimi was visiting our home, I asked her if she would like me to cook something for her. She agreed and thus began my imaginary dinner party. As I was searching through the refrigerator, she noticed how the inside was painted with pretend jars and food. Being the the wonderful grandmother she is, she decided to continue developing my little, innocent three-year-old brain. She started to point to different pictures and ask me what they were.
Mimi: What’s that? (pointing to a tomato)
Whoorl: That’s a tomato!
Mimi: Very good! You are such a smart little girl! Now, what’s this?
Whoorl: Those are eggs!
Mimi: Why, you are such a little chef! Can you tell me what those are? (pointing to green olives)
Whoorl: Yes, those are for Shan’s martinis!
Well, that was the end of that fun game.
*this disclaimer is to cover my ass when my mom calls wondering how I could reduce the extraordinary lives of my grandmothers to three sentences.