Good Things I'll Never Do Again

Twenty-One: Vienna Sausage Fish

   "I always start my day with the best intentions and a positive attitude. Then idiots happen."

~Anonymous

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 "Dusty, I'll kill you, you know I will!" I warn, dodging away from her small hands that are trying to poke me in the eye with a mascara wand.

She's been pestering me all day, wanting me to get ready for our day at the aquarium. Weekends are the hardest with the girls. They get so bored, which shouldn't be my problem, but they won't shut up until we do something.

I'd made a deal with Dusty—if she changed out of her mermaid costume and put on real clothes, I'd let her do my makeup. It didn't quite seem fair to me, but the mermaid costume had enough glitter to blind a psychic from seeing into the future.

"Just a little!" Dusty protests.

I lean closer to the mirror, muttering swear words deep in my heart, and guide her hand towards my eyelashes.

"Beautiful!" she squeals. "Now, lipstick, lipstick!"

"No way!" I say. "That's too far."

"How about red?!"

"No, thanks. I'd rather not look like I've been kissing the Kool-Aid man."

"Just a little?" she begs.

"Ugh. Fine."

She dabs it on carefully, and I almost smile watching her little face be so concentrated.

"Good," she says slowly, backing away to examine her work.

I turn towards the mirror and nod. "Not bad, kid."

Dusty whispers, "I think Mr. Watson will like it. He loves pretty paintings."

I blink at her, open my mouth, then close it. I'm not even going to say anything.

That little girl is too smooth for her own good. Besides, I've officially decided it's not a date. What was I thinking, anyway?

"Alright, let's get going," I say, "the aquarium waits for no one."

It takes forever to get the girls out of the house. First, Jemma forgets her headphones in her room. Then Dusty remembers Shakira, her stuffed penguin. Once we're all in the car about to pull out, Eloise runs back inside the house to get a new book she bought.

We're almost thirty minutes late by the time we're actually on the road.

Apparently, Finn is not great with directions. Apparently, "just outside of town" really means "three towns over". Because the GPS says we'll be there in an hour.

An hour in the car with the three of them, and I'm already in a bad mood to begin with.

"Let's sing!" Dusty announces.

"No!" I cry in a panic. Whoever said the songs of children were like the voices of angels had apparently been drunk when they thought that. When Dusty sang, she literally screamed at the top of her lungs.

Dusty levels her gaze at me and then, without wavering, begins, "Ninety-nine bottles of milk on the wall..."

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