Friday, July 25, 2008

The Look

I thought I had officially mastered The Look.
You know the one I'm talking about.
It's the look you give your kids when they have scaled the furniture, strapped on a set of tissue paper wings, and prepared to fly.
It's the look you give when you catch your son feeding his broccoli to the dog.
It's the look you give The Man when he's said something so amazingly stupid that words have failed you.
It's like the expression Cruella De Ville gives while chasing down those puppies in her big old coupe de ville (get the pun?) in 101 Dalmations (or Damn nations, as I say it!)
I can make my children stop mid air and rethink their actions--it's too blasted late, but that fraction of a second when reality sets in and they realize that wasn't too smart is priceless.
I can make my husband back slowly from the room, hand cupped protectively over the boys (and not my kids. They, he so magnanimously decided, are on their own!)
But my daughter is immue.
Give her The Look (yes, it needs to be capitalized) and she laughs.
Increase the intensity? She crows!
Get down on her level and give her The Look? She pats my face and smiles.
It must be a girl thing.
It must have to do with female hormones.
It must be a test from the universe.
I'm so throughly and totally outgunnned by my pint sized Mini Me that even The Look has failed me.
Oiy Vie!

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