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The Littlest Operator
Last night, I babysat for the first time in 12 years. It’s Beaker’s captain’s kid, and he’s five years old. We’ll call him… Nathan. Because that is his name.

Nathan and I have been pals for a while. We’re sitting there eating pizza when I ask him if the thunder and lightening that kept me awake half the night before woke him up, too.

“No,” he says. “I slept really well.”

I tell him, “That’s good!”

“Yeah. I had really good dreams.”

This makes me wonder what could possible constitute a “good dream” for a five year old. So I asked him, “What did you dream about?”

Not missing a beat, Nathan replied, “They were good because they were about YOU.”

I SAID something like, “Aw, you’re sweet. Eat your pizza.” But I THOUGHT, “Damn. That is pretty freaking smooth for a kindergartener. Given all the time I’ve spent in bars, I should be able to see every pick-up line coming a mile away, but he totally sprung that one on me! I just got FED a LINE by a five year old.”

I really need to get out more.

Or not, because last weekend I:

1. Resisted the urge to try out the bidet at the reception for the newly-installed businesswoman’s club National President Installation Reception

2. Captured baby jellyfish

3. Dubbed a dessert fork “Fork Lauderdale” while at a club called Swig, then laughed hysterically at my own pun-infused cleverness

4. Fed iguanas fruit

5. Salsa-danced with a bald gentleman

6. In no particular order.

AND, I stayed in Friday night!

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