Today I went to the Target to get some much-needed stuff, but I was in a hurry because I had to meet Elvis’s bus.  When we got to the checkout, Girlfriend was doing her “I’m in the checkout and being cute dance” and the checker said, “He’s so cute.  How old is he?”  And I was in such a hurry that I didn’t realize at first she was talking to me, because I didn’t have a “he” with me, but then I realized she was indeed talking to me, for there were no other cute kids around, and I was discombobulated and said, “Oh!  Um, actually, he—she–she’s a girl.”  Which wasn’t answering the question, but the checker said, “Oh, I’m sorry,” and I immediately went on to say, “Oh, it’s okay, you can’t tell at this age,” which you can’t, especially when the child in question is dressed head to toe in Thomas the Tank Engine clothes (shoes and socks included, yes) and refuses to wear pretty bows or ponytails in her hair, so she looks kind of like a train-loving rock star.  Anyway, the checker was very embarrassed, and I felt bad and tried to assure her it was no biggie because it totally wasn’t.  She just caught me off guard.

Anyway, we were both so confused and contrite that she forgot to ring up half my purchases and I got all the way out to my car before I realized that I’d also forgotten to buy them.  So I went back in and fortunately the checker had already rung them up for me and I was able to pay for them and also finally tell her how old Girlfriend was.  She still felt bad, especially since she herself is the mother of a “tomboy” who is always being mistaken for a boy.

I should have told her that I wish it would happen more often–specifically, at the McDonald’s, where they have different toys for boys and girls.  I am not a fan of the different toys for boys and girls, specifically of the toys they have for girls, which are stupid and often barely qualify as toys.  Seriously, one time Elvis got a toy car and Girlfriend got this crazy plastic zipper-pull charm thing that I still don’t get what the hell it was.  I always have to exchange the girl toy because it is always lame.  Lately I’ve just taken to telling them from the outset that I have two boys, which confuses them because one of my boys has very short hair and the other “boy” has very long hair.  But at least I get two actual toys, not one toy and an even more useless piece of plastic crap.

Actually, I would happily request no toys whatsoever, but the kids know to expect the toys, and it’s just too late for that.  Just like it’s too late to get apple slices instead of french fries.  You can’t unring that bell.  You may as well just not go to McDonald’s.  And seriously, don’t start with me about the McDonald’s.

Where was I?  Oh, yes.  I don’t mind that people mistake my girl for a boy, even if she is too pretty to be a boy.  My boys are too pretty to be boys, too.  Princess Zurg minds it very much, though, because she waited seven years for a sister, and this is what she gets?  Total.  Rip-off.

Speaking of Girlfriend, though, I have some shilling to do.  Girlfriend has very dry skin–correction:  she had very dry skin.  It was very, very dry.  Her bum looked like a war zone; I thought it was diaper rash, but it was actually eczema.  It got better when I stopped shampooing her hair so much, but the skin on her legs was still extremely dry–so dry, in fact, that she would just scream and scream when I applied Eucerin moisturizer to it.  Granted, she screams about a lot of things, but I myself have also had skin that was so dry that it hurt to apply moisturizer thereunto, so I’m going with that theory.  Also, her skin was just really, really dry.  I’m telling you.

So anyway, the Eucerin was not helping, and she was always screaming, and I was wondering what else I could do.  Then my mother-in-law, during her last visit, suggested this Olay Body Wash Plus with Body Butter Ribbons.  I confess I was skeptical.  I mean, I was applying the freaking Eucerin daily with great liberality, right after bathtime (water only, no soap, no shampoo) to lock in moisture, and that wasn’t helping, and I just didn’t see how any body wash/cleanser-type thing could possibly do better.  I’ve tried “moisturizing body washes.”  I’m sure you have too.  They’re pretty much crap, in my observation.

However, Olay Body Wash Plus with Body Butter Ribbons told me to take the five day challenge.  It said my skin would be noticeably smoother and silkier in five days.  And so I used it in Girlfriend’s Bath every day for five days, and I thought on day five that her skin might indeed be getting better.  And on day seven it certainly did seem to be better.  And now it is, like, two weeks later and her skin is 90 percent improved.  Maybe 95 percent.  It is much smoother.  It feels like three-year-old skin should feel like.  I should add that I have not been using any other moisturizer.  Just the Olay Body Wash Plus with Body Butter Ribbons.  I’m not saying it’s a miracle elixir–but it might be.  That’s all I’m saying.

Or possibly it was the great faith of my mother-in-law that healed my daughter’s skin.  No one knows for sure.  I’m just telling you my experience.  It worked so well on my baby that I thought I might try it on my own skin.  It’s that good.

Actually, that little commercial was just to buy me time so I could remember what else I was going to say about the whole Girlfriend-as-Boyfriend fiasco.  And now I finally remember:  why do we call girls who engage in gender-atypical behavior “tomboys”?  Is a “Tom” less of a real boy than, say, a “David” or a “George”?  We call (real) boy cats “tomcats” and (real) boy turkeys “Tom Turkeys,” so why isn’t “Tom” a masculinizer?  Why doesn’t “tomboy” mean, like, an extra-masculine boy?  Perhaps the term should be “tomgirl,” eh?  Except that I don’t like the term at all because it implies that there’s some certain way a boy or girl “ought” to act and if they don’t act that way, they need a special label.  But I’m not looking for sympathy or a “you go, girl!”–I’m just curious about the etymology of the word, that’s all.

And now I have to change some diapers and clean house, which is totally typical housewife behavior.  But if I decided to go tinker with something in the garage or earn a paycheck for a change, you wouldn’t call me a “tomwife,” would you?  Well, would you?

Happy Monday, y’all.

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