It all started because I somehow gave birth to a creature who is so strange, so bizarre, so ... you guys, my kid doesn't like cheese.
I KNOW.
I KNOW.
I KNOW.
I used to fight with her about the whole thing because this is a cheese house. We like cheese. WE. LOVE. CHEESE.
But she really isn't a fan.
So on Thursdays when Mr. Husband and I decide we're eating pizza, dammit, I sometimes let The Anti-Cheese Freak pick something else for dinner. I won't let her have a separate meal when I cook, but somehow I can justify making an extra stop when I go to pick up pizza. I know, it doesn't make sense. NEITHER DOES THE FACT THAT MY KID DOESN'T LIKE CHEESE.
I gave the kid her choices from the entire fast food world and she decided she wanted bread with some lettuce, tomatoes, and olives on it. That's it, by the way. She very literally struts into Subway and then proceeds to order a sub with lettuce, tomato, and olives. No dressing. No cheese. Nothing else.
Her Subway order is how I know she is the strange one and not me.
She was sitting in the back of the car happily downing her lettuce sandwich when I stopped to pick up the delicious, delicious cheese on a crust. I could have made her wait until we got home to eat her so-called "sub," but then I would have had to wait until we were home to eat my pizza and NO WAY JOSE. I pulled into the parking space and paused, thinking about my options.
I really wanted to let the kid stay in the car while I ran in to get the pizza.
BUT.
Well, you know. Leaving kids in cars is sort of frowned upon given the whole kidnapping-car-stealing-it-was-hot-outside situation.
There are a million things that ran through my mind, most of them on the side of Let the Kid Stay It'll Only Be Three Seconds, but then I remembered that time my mom ran into work and left my little brother in the car. As she walked across the floor of the Minot Daily News (she delivered papers), my allegedly immobile little brother somehow managed to release himself from his car seat and released the emergency break. The car went rolling ... rolling ... rolling ... down an alley and BAM! right into a building.
The pizza shop's parking lot is sloped.
I told Alexis she had to get out of the car.
She wasn't happy that I was insisting she part ways with her beloved lettuce sandwich. She started to whine and moan and groan and demanded a reason for why I was making her get out of the car.
"Because someone could steal the car with you in it," I blurted without thinking. It was a perfectly legit reason, but OMG CAN OF WORMS.
The kid stared at me as if I had just suggested aliens were going to pop out of her ears and hand her some brain cells on a platter.
"Why would somebody do THAT?" she asked.
I tried explaining why someone would try to steal a car as we walked in to pick up my preshusssss cheese on a crust. Alexis still didn't quite believe me that it was even a possibility, but she had answers as to what she would do if it were to happen.
"If anybody tried to steal me and the car, I'd call them a jerk," she said. "Jerk" is the strongest insult she knows. Some day I'll teach her about a billion better ones, but for now that one serves her well.
"I don't think that would really stop them," I told her.
"Yeah, well ... then I would puke on them!" she snarled.
You know, that might work. Leave it to a 6-year old to figure out a way to stop crime.
