How Not To Calm A Child On A Plane - Plot & Excerpts
I ask her why she’s crying. “I WANNA GET MAWWIED!” I am startled by her outburst, but more than that I am entertained, which, due to the fact that I am a horrible person, is often the effect that my daughter’s emotional breakdowns have on me. Until I hear her response to the groom’s line of questioning. “You’re upset because you wanted to get married?” he asks. She sobs heavily. “Y—Y—YETHHHHHH!” “Who do you want to marry?” he asks. “I WANN . . . I WANN . . . I WANNA MAWWY . . . MOMMY!” And that’s when she throws her chubby arms around my thighs, and I don’t even care that she’s getting snot and tears on my three-hundred-dollar silk bridesmaid’s dress/future throw pillows. I just stand there, enjoying this sweet spot of parenthood, and the aroma of the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped hors d’oeuvres now being circulated on platters all around us only enhances the delicious perfection of the moment. But while I am weirdly flattered by her proposal, it occurs to me that one day she’s going to realize that she probably won’t be marrying me (at least not until the laws around here change pretty drastically), and someday after that, she’s going to throw her arms around some guy or girl the way she’s hugging me now.
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