I made it all the way to the letter "I" before I wanted to send Alphabet Show-n-Tell to time out. Just in case you happen to be blissfully unaware of the "joy" that is Alphabet Show-n-Tell (in which case, CAN I BE YOU?), it's when a school adds a little extra rule to the usual Show-n-Tell. Each week the name of the item the kids bring in to show off to their friends has to start with the designated letter of the alphabet. Alexis took an apple for A week, a Barbie with brown hair for B week, a cat stuffed animal for C week, and so on.
But I week was a whole new challenge.
I asked Alexis last week what she planned to take. Usually she rattles something off immediately, which makes me think she and her friends hold secret Alphabet Show-n-Tell conferences during school. All I'm saying is that their lives seem to revolve around Show-n-Tell, much like my life revolves around Starbucks and chocolate. This time, however, I was met with, "I don't know. Do you have any ideas?" when I asked.
Idiot?
Nope. Couldn't use that one.
Imbecile?
Probably not age appropriate.
Ingrate?
Yeah, ummmm . . . no.
Inferior?
There seems to be a pattern here . . .
So while I apparently can toss out I insults like a boss, I couldn't think of a usable noun. After much hemming and hawing and a little consultation with Dr. Google, I decided I was going to cheat and convince Alexis that one of her dolls was named either Isabella or Isaac.
When it was time to grab the Show-n-Tell item, I walked into the playroom, pillaged in the closet, and emerged with a long ago forgotten doll. "Hey, look! It's your doll Isabella! I bet she'd be perfect for Show-n-Tell."
"Her name isn't Isabella," Alexis replied. "That's Lolly."
"Oh, wait! I found Isaac!" I don't give up easily.
"That's not Isaac. That's Feffer," Alexis replied.
I might have mumbled a few obscenities under my breath at that point, because WTH? Since when does every doll in this house have a name? That doesn't start with I?
Alexis rolled her eyes at me and said she would find something. She went into the closet, started tossing boxes and toys and assorted debris here and there, and then emerged victorious with a stuffed iguana.
Of course! Iguana! I don't know why the hell we have a stuffed iguana, but of course we have a stuffed iguana. Why wouldn't we?
I praised the short person up and down for being so smart and then started to leave the room.
"But I doooon't wannnna bring the iguannnna to school," Alexis whined. I'm a boss with I insults, but she's a boss with the pointless whining.
"And why not?" I asked.
"It's not cuddly," she whined.
Of course. Not only does the Show-n-Tell item have to follow the magical mystical alphabet rules, it also must be cuddly so that she-who-allegedly-naps-at-preschool can snuggle with it for a little while. I think it's an urban legend that she really does sleep, so I suppose that the cuddly part is a tiny bit important, what with her need to smoosh and nuzzle and kick when she's not sleeping. The stuffed iguana is about as cuddly as a rock. It's the sort of quality of stuffed animal that you'll find at a roadside carnival as a reward for throwing a ball though an oval-shaped basketball hoop. I'm pretty sure that if Alexis had kicked it while she was not sleeping, she would have broken a toe.
But I didn't care. I was done looking for an I thing, so I told her to suck it up and take the iguana. She doesn't need all ten of her toes anyway.
MELTDOWN. ALL OVER THE FLOOR.
Homey don't play that and neither do I, so Alexis ended up with her choice of going to school empty-handed or taking the iguana. She took the iguana.
AND SHE SURVIVED! Whoddathunkit?
I need to start planning out the rest of the alphabet. Now. Just in case.
