Let Your Freak Flag Fly

So there’s this thing Weevy does.  After dinner, when her mother and I inevitably let her have too many sweets, she inevitably gets a raging sugar high and commences to babbling, laughing hysterically at nothing much at all, staggering around and falling down… basically, she’s a dead ringer for a sheltered freshman at her first frat party.  It’s equal parts cute, annoying, and — because I can imagine her doing this sort of thing when she’s 18 and on a college campus somewhere, terrifying.  At the same time, I have to remember she’s five years old, and it’s totally normal for a five year old who’s hopped up on macarons and milk chocolate to act like a goddamned idiot.  So as long as I can drag her home from her favorite restaurant without her injuring herself or others, I generally try to stay cool with it.

The other day — and this is related to the story above, it just takes a little while to get to the point — I looked at Weevy and, as is the wont of sappy daddies, was overcome by how beautiful she is.  She caught me staring at her and said, “What are you looking at?”

“You know, you’re really pretty.”

“Even when I’m naked?”

Weird question, but I decided to roll with it and try to teach her a lesson.  “Of course, sweetie.  Clothes don’t make you pretty.  You could wear pretty clothes, or ugly clothes, or nothing at all, and you’d still be just as pretty.”  Not bad, right?

“Am I pretty even when I’m walking around sticking my butt out?” Cue hysterical laughter.

What the hell?  Did my wise, damn near poetic words have no effect?  “Yes, even when you’re sticking your butt out.  Although I hope you don’t do that in public.”

Cut to a few days later.  The missus and I have a couple of dear friends over for dinner, with whom Weevy is well acquainted.  At home, Weevy will generally have three categories of outfit: a costume, her mermaid swimsuit with monofin (mermaids have at least temporarily replaced princesses at the top of her “what I’d like to be when I grow up” list), or undies.  When she’s in the last guise she’s known as Underwear Girl.

Well, this evening, Weevy was in Underwear Girl mode, hosting our guests and drinking Shirley Temples wearing Disney princess undies, socks and high heels.  The things you can get away with when you’re five, right?

I made the mistake of telling our friends the story about my telling Weevy she’s pretty while she was in earshot.  Once I got to the part about sticking her butt out… well, I shouldn’t have been surprised.  Down came the undies and out came her shaking booty, accompanied by gales of laughter from Weevy and averted eyes and muffled giggles from the rest of us.

I’ve got 13 years before she heads off to college.  Hopefully I can straighten her out before she becomes known as her sorority’s exhibitionist.