I was dead serious when I posted last week that getting the children up-and-at-’em is akin to poking two bears.
Trixie (5) has taken to wearing sunglasses in the A.M, which overall channels a strong 1990s Courtney Love vibe.
Here she is enjoying a nutritious breakfast of Fruity Pebbles, which was immediately preceded by her barking, “Where are my Fruity Pebbles? I ordered Fruity Pebbles! And why isn’t anyone pouring the milk?”
Note that the picture quality is poor since I had to surreptitiously take them to avoid her wrath. Frankly, I’m scared of her.
Spouse has also worked out a whole backstory to her behavior that I find hilarious (and a helpful coping mechanism), namely that she’s an indulged, out-of-control socialite/actress/musician.
He’ll pretend to be Trixie (out of earshot, of course), and routinely provides bon mots like:
- The sun! It burns!
- I don’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day. And I don’t see any bags of cash in your hands.
- Get the G6 gassed up and ready to go! I’ll be at Teterboro in 20.
- See you in Ibiza.
- Where the hell is my agent Murray? He was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago! Murray! Get me Murray!