I've Got My Crystal Ball Out...

Little Me is only seven years old.

Now, one would think that would be too tender of an age for his old adoring Momma to picking out what she wants to buy him when he gets married. One would be wrong.

I'm going to buy him a big, comfy couch. I may even spring for a sleeper sofa.


While on the way to a doctor's appointment this morning, Little Me gazed at the miles of standstill traffic ahead of us.

"When I grow up, I'm going to buy me a helicopter after I win NASCAR in Daytona," he surmised.

"No, you most certainly are not," I scolded him.

"Well, I'm going to need one. Then, I won't have to sit in traffic," he argued.

"I'm not letting my baby fly in one of those things," I countered.

"Momma," he said in a tone that reflected his obvious thought that I am ridiculous. "It will have doors. I'd never fly one without doors."

"You're not going to fly one at all," I affirmed in my stern, don't mess with me because I can pinch you from the front seat while driving a stick-shift in Atlanta rush hour traffic, drinking a Coke and flipping arrogant north Atlanta commuters off. I'm amazing at multitasking like that.

"But, I will be 30. Do I still have to do what my Momma tells me to do when I'm 30?"

"Yes. When it comes to helicopters you do."

Little Me contemplated the conversation for several minutes before speaking again.

"I'll need to make sure that I remember to tell my wife that. She may not know that she needs to do what my Momma says and ask 'permishion' to do stuff," Little Me said thoughtfully.

I laughed and advised him that probably wouldn't be the best of ideas.

"No. She needs to mind you. She's gonna have to do anything you tell her to," Little Me replied.

And, that folks, is how my little man's first marital fight is going to start.

So, being the good mom I am, I told him that he might want to consider investing in a large, comfy couch when he gets married. I've an inkling that he's going to be spending some time there.

A guest room probably wouldn't be a bad idea either. For him, not for me. I'd be scared to close my eyes around that woman if he tells her that. I know how we women are. She might put Super Glue in my denture cream while I'm sleeping or something.

Or, even worse, she may send him back home to his dear old Momma.


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