A few weeks ago I was at Milk’s house drinking an Old Fashioned with her husband The Engineer. We were idly discussing the possibility of snow and the potential outcome of some college football games we planned to watch later. Then I felt a tiny hand tugging on mine, I looked down to see Milk’s youngest daughter beaming up at me with her big eyes and adorably unbrushed mop of blonde hair.
She is three, so she talks in that peak of cuteness way where kids sound like Elmer Fudd and Tweety Bird had a love child.
“Unca Whiskey, can you come upstaiws and pway wiff me?” She asked.
Who am I to say no, I’m not a monster. I took a sip of my drink and set it down on the bar. Normally she’s kind of shy with me whereas the other kids like to jump on my head when I’m not ready for it. I took this to mean she was finally warming up.
“Why sure Jo, I would love to come and pway wiff you!” I said.
“Yayyyyyy” She replied
She led me by her tiny hand up the stairs to what I assumed was a tea party of stuffed animals or maybe a pile of crayons and some terrible art.
As we rounded the top of the stairs she gave me one more heart melting smile.
“Get weddy to shoot him in da face!” She yelled.
I looked at her aghast as Nerf darts began flying at my head from various ambush positions occupied by my boys and her sister.
She beamed at me.
Remind me to thank Uncle Smokey for arming the little bastards.