My hopes for a cushy retirement living off the spoils of my children just took a hit today; L's prospects for a super-modelling career may have hit the skids after a tragic injury this morning. She experienced a probable career-ending disfigurement above her right eye in a terrible accident involving the propeller of a vintage WWII battleship. (I shall purposely leave the details there to your imagination until I get around to writing that post.)The wound was quickly patched up by Mommy and Poppa who happened to be on hand at the scene, and while the tide of blood was stemmed, the grim, horrific outcome of the event remains to be seen. When her protective bandages are removed will she be a forever-taunted freak of nature, abominable in the eyes of all who behold her? Will small children shriek and run from her just like her brother always seems to be doing? Will adults stop short in mid-compliment when she turns to face them head-on? ("Oh, what a beautiful... <gasp!>...uh...uh...hair ribbon! Right - what a beautiful hair ribbon.")
Only time will tell.
Granted, my dreams of a life of leisure at my children's expense were contingent on a lot of "if's." Would, for example, the perpetual spaghetti sauce stains that seem to ever grace her face ever wash off enough for a magazine covershot? Would the rodents who have taken up residence in her coiffure be persuaded to remove themselves long enough for her debut in Milan? (I was relying heavily on reminding them she would be on a catwalk.) But these worries may well be for naught with today's vision-crushing developments. I can't say that my hopes of milking my kids are completely shattered, but this does clearly put a lot more pressure on N and his Snow White dresses.
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