Hoochies are born-not breed

Proof. Hoochies are born that way. 

Daycare pick up. As I walk into the room a little girl runs up to me. “Are you sadiepyles mutha?” 

“Yes I am sweetie,” I answer, smiling at the the sweet little wisp of a girl with the delicate southern drawl standing in front of me. 

“Weeelllllluuuhhhhh.” She smacks her lips and tosses her hair over her shoulder. Uh-oh. I’ve seen that posturing before on my 12-year old. “You-uh,” yep–that tone is ringing a bell too. “You-uh need to tell sadiepyle,” the whole first and last name thing is on way to make a friend of me little lady,”…that next time sadiepyle has the share-ah bag that sadiepyle can only bring 2,” hip cocks to the side,  hair tosses over a shoulder and the lips purse even tighter. One hand goes on the  cocked hip. The other goes into the air where 2 fingers dramatically punctuate her point. “Two-uh,” punctuated with a lip smack. 

Beside me Sadie’s shoulders slump and she’s staring at the floor. She’s crestfallen. 

Lip smack. “Only 2-ah things can go in the share-ah bag. Sadiepyle brought 3. Three-yah,” lips smack and re-purse. “You-uhh,” I’ve about had it with this little diva telling me in 2 syllables what I need to do. “…need to tell sadiepyle that next time sadipyle gets to bring the share-ah bag Sadiepyle  can only….”prima Donna is priming up to launch into her 2 versus 3 lecture again. Second verse same as the first. 

I am 44 years old. I am not about to stand here and be dressed down by a 5 year old bee-yatch in training who is humiliating my little one. 

“First of all-dahlin’,” I can drawl with the best of ‘Em. “Sadie,” stress in the single first name,”told me it was but Eye-uhhh added the 3rd thing.”

She actually stamps her foot. “And that’s wrong. Sadiepyle can only bring 2 things when sadiepyle has the share-ah bag!” She is ramping up into full bee-yatch mode.

I snap. I’ve had my fill of pursed-lip-nastiness today. All day I’ve watched people be ungrateful and unhelpful and mean just because they wanted to. No more. Not when this nastiness is robbing my daughter of the joy of the share bag. Now Sadie is sad and embarrassed about something she has become very proud of. Oh no she didn’t! 

“Not today little girl,” I say. My big-girl panities are starting to bunch. It’s been a crappy day and I will not let it end being chastised by someone who comes up to my knees.  “Next time Sadie will bring 2,” I illustrate my complete understanding of the number by raising 2 fingers. “But today she had 3.” I pause to let that sink in. “She had 3 because I added the last thing…” I hold up my hand to ward off her rant. Her curls are bobbing in outrage. “She had 3 things today and that is okay.” I end firmly. 

My firm-soothing-pseudo heather voice has no effect. There is no holding back hoochy any longer. She’s practically jumping up and down to get the words out. “Sadiepyle can’t have 3 things in the share-ah bag. Sadiepyle can only have 2 things in the share-ah bag.  It’s the rule. 2 things in the share-ah bag. 2!!!”

I pull my sad girl to me. To her I say, “It’s okay Sadie. You were right. You told me 2. Mommy was wrong.”

This little hoochy will not let it die. “…but that’s not right. Sadiepyle can’t have 3-sadiepyle can have 2…”

“Guess what…nobody died! And it’s not very nice of you to be making Sadie feel bad.” 

I turn us away from the share-bag-policewoman. Sadie is staring at me looking forlorn. I cross my eyes and make a funny face. “Boy am I an trouble,” I say in my best cartoon character voice. “I put 3,” I shake my head and bug out my eyes, “…3 things in the share bag!” I gasp dramatically and throw my hand to my forehead. “3 things sadiepyle! 3! I put 3 in the share bag,” finally she starts to giggle at my silliness.

We leave diva-lic-ous fuming on the circle rug. 

On the way out I stop at the front desk to tell her teacher that I was the culprit-not Sadie-for the oh-so-offensive 3rd item.  She’s laughing as I tell her I am leaving with less behind then I came in with thanks to the petite guardian of the share bag from her classroom. Sadie is laughing as  I pantomime miss pursed lips quivering with outrage at the audacity of Sadie’s over sharing. 

Once a pursed-lip-mean girl always a pursed-lip-mean girl.


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