The Daddy Store

Today, Selam said that “kids who want daddies and don’t have them can go get them at the daddy store.”

“The daddy store? Where’s that?”

“Oh, it’s downtown,” she said, speaking with her mouth full of peanut butter toast. “Next to that other store that we go to.”

“Oh,” I say. We have never shopped downtown.

“How much are the daddies?”

“Well, some are a dollar, but most are a penny. You can get a tall one or a short one, and if you want to, you can have a fat one, too. Some are good at being rock stars, and some have tattoos.”

“Oh. Have you bought a daddy at the store?”

“I don’t need one,” she says, swinging her legs.

“No you don’t, ” I say, proud that she is content in our small family.

“Nah. I have all my Atos and my pretend daddy, too.”

“Yes, you have lots of real and pretend men for friends.”

“Yeah. I did want a daddy, but now I don’t because if I had a daddy, he’d kiss you and then I wouldn’t want you to kiss me anymore.”

“You wouldn’t?”

She is no longer five. Her face is clearly that of a fourteen year old with an outrageously ridiculous mother.

“Boy germs, Mommy? They could jump from you to me, and then I’d grow a mustache. Yuck.”

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10 thoughts on “The Daddy Store

  1. Please instruct Salem to give us the address of the daddy store so that my children can purchase one when they want one. Phoebe is convinced that hers has gotten lost somewhere and will be coming back any time. She is hard to convince otherwise. 🙂

  2. When my precious Older Daughter was three, a neighborhood kid tried to taunt her with, “Hahahaha, you don’t have a daddy!” (I cringed.) Her response? “No. And no dog, either!”

    Kids. Gotta love ’em.

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