The Artist Formally Known as Bandit

I’m psychic.  It’s true, Ava.  Wanna know how I know I’m psychic?  This evening we were coming home from the mall.  My Honey decided that I’d been much too happy lately so he wanted a family portrait done.  He made me wear a dress and smile.  It was horrible.  Having my picture taken makes me hostile.  Seriously.  And then he gets angry at me when I don’t like any of the pictures.  Because I’m in them.  Why is that so hard to understand? 

We also saw Santa.  The very same Santa that promised Isabella’s Bean a turtle.  I offered to deliver a message to the Jolly Old Elf for her, but when I heard the message I politely declined to relate it. 

Tangent Girl has struck again. 

ANYWAY, we were on our way home from the mall when we pulled up along side a pickup truck that was painted with cowboy graphics.  It was really cool – at least from the point of view of a 4 year old cowboy worshiper.

“Daddy, that is so cool!” the Bandit said.  “I could paint that.”

“Yeah, someday maybe you could paint my truck like that,” My Honey agreed.

“I’m a good painter, Daddy.”

Are you psychic, too?  Can you see into the future and imagine a day, not very far in the future, when My Honey walks outside to see his beloved Dodge painted with the loving strokes of an inspired preschool artist?

I looked at My Honey through the dashboard enhanced darkness.  “You understand that he thinks you’ve given him permission to paint your truck.”

“When you grow up and get a job you can paint my truck.  A long time in the future.  Some day far, far away,” My Honey said emphatically, trying his best to qualify his “permission”.

He’s telling this to a boy who thinks that Christmas is still a life time away.  I don’t even need a crystal ball to see what’s coming, and he has no one to blame but himself.  God help us.