Secrets and Dinosaurs

So I’ve just discovered one thing that stinks about having your sister read your blog.  You cannot post any secrets!!!

Hypothetically, let’s just suppose that two sisters decided to have a homemade Christmas this year.  And let’s suppose that one of those sisters is just-a-teeny-bit craft impaired.  Not even her handwriting is neat.

Said sister might want to ask the blogosphere for fabulous, not-too-artistic, super-cool gift ideas for a 6 month old girl, a 5 year old boy and a picture perfect married couple.

But alas and alack I cannot.  Because then KK will know what she’s getting!

Nor can I use my pathetic attemps at craftiness as blog material.  At least not until after December 25.  Sigh.

So instead let me throw KK under the bus by discussing her unique imagination as a child.  Chinamommy’s recent post reminded me of the time KK decided she was a baby dinosaur. 

I can remember it as if it was yesterday. 

Here’s the scene:

Not the exact car, but close.

A Maryland suburb in the late 70s.  Outside a low slung rancher two girls sit in the backseat of a red Toyota Celica.  The car is the last vestige of coolness before the family succumbs to a decade or more of station wagons. 

The 8 year old girl, hair in pigtails tied with fat yarn ribbons, is minding her own business. 

The 3 year old is about to go dinosaur on the Celica.

Without warning, the 3 year old lurches to the left and tears a chunk out of the side of the car.  Small white incisors savagely tear the black vinyl revealing a thin layer of foam and the underlying metal skeleton.

Dinosaur is victorious over the no longer cool Celica.

Eight year old girl stares, stunned.  Silence reigns as the car awaits parental units.

Scene out.

KK, you’re welcome.