The Bandit informed me he no longer likes his friend Ashton.

“Why?” I asked. There seemed so many reasons not to like that particular boy.

“He’s dating two of my friends,” he informed me. I found this disturbing. My son is six, almost seven, but not quite. He’s in first grade.  “What does that mean, he’s ‘dating’ your friends?”

“I don’t know, they’re just dating.”

“Do they eat lunch together?”

“No.”

“Sit together at recess?”

“No.” I could tell he was already getting bored with the conversation, but I still had questions.

“Do they go anywhere?”

“No,” he sighed after saying it.

“Well, then what do they do that constitutes dating?”

“Sometimes they go get cake pops after school.” Well, I agree that is disturbing. I wouldn’t like that very much either.

But wait… “He’s dating both girls?”

“Yeah.” He nodded his head. 

“That seems a bit excessive,” I agreed. “Is he a playa?”

My son looked at me the way kids do when their parents try to use slang they have no business using.

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you like these girls? Is that the problem?”

“No, they’re just my friends.”

“So what do you care if he dates them both?” I used the word ‘date’ loosely since apparently only sticked pastries were involved.

“I don’t know, I just do.”  He flung himself off his bed with a great deal of flair. Clearly he was done with this line of questioning.

The girls are Jade and Mercedes. Does it make me awful to think those names sound an awful lot like strippers? Am I going to be that mom? I hope not. On the other hand, they are dating that creepy little kid for cake pops. Not that I haven’t been known to pay a compliment I didn’t mean if there was a cake pop in the offering.

So, Amylynn and I went over to Panda Express for lunch.  We have this crazy fantasy that one day we’ll show up over there and there will be an actual Panda.  A real Panda, not just those photos they have on the advertisements.

Like I always do, I ordered a Panda – pronto.  No one ever laughs at that except for Amylynn . . . I don’t know why.

While we were there, I came up with a brilliant contest for them to have.  The person who eats there the most in one year wins a Panda.  A real Panda.  Not a photo Panda.  I tried to tell the manager about this genius idea and he seemed annoyed that I was bothering him.

He didn’t seem very bright so I tried to explain my idea to the cashier.  That was even worse.  I’m not sure the cashier even spoke english.  She kept trying to hand us a purple cup.  No, no purple cup, Panda, please hand me a Panda.  I decided to leave when she mentioned the police in mandarin chinese.

Don't even lie and say you don't want one of these

Not one to give up when a Panda might be had, I tried to call the Panda Express corporate office.

Receptionist: Hello, Panda Express.

Me: Hello!  I have an idea for a brilliant contest. 

Receptionist:  I’m sorry, we don’t take brilliant unsolicited contest ideas from strangers, no matter how much money it might make us.  

Baby panda for Ava

Me: But you haven’t even heard the specifics yet!

Receptionist: Does it involve winning a Panda?

Me: In fact, it does!!!  How did you know?

Receptionist:  Are you in Desert City, AZ?

Me: Ummmmm, yes.

Receptionist:  The police are looking for you right now. 

At that point I hung up.  Stupid cashier.  

I’m still not giving up my dream of having a pet Panda but I am starting a petition to make Panda Express change it’s name – that’s false advertising since there are no Pandas – fast or otherwise.

Whenever we need to meet to go over stuff, or we desperately need a book, or coffee and a snack, or it’s Tuesday then Quill Sisters meet at the Starbucks inside the Barnes & Noble. We call it The Church and we tithe at the bakery counter. I still think they have the most glorious red velvet cupcakes and those of you who don’t agree with me, then yippee! More for me.

The reason I bring this up today is because I think I have my own assigned spot there. It’s alway available when I get there and it’s right in front of the door.

Maybe it’s because it’s a really hard spot to get into, it’s weirdly angled and only superior drivers want to attempt it. Fortunately, I can get my big assed Durango into all kinds of good parking spots. I don’t want to say I’m a superior driver, but there is evidence…

Maybe it’s because others are afraid of me and my glare and therefore just think it’s best to avoid that spot anyway.

Even today, as Ava and I pulled into the parking spot someone was leaving that exact spot. It’s like they knew I was coming.

Or maybe they were just waiting for me, saving my spot for me until I could get there.

Yea – I’m sure that’s it. Whoever said delusions are unhealthy?