Where the Boys Are


Rhiannon, aged "four and seventeen quarters" (her reckoning), is Trouble, "Trouble with a capital 'T'", as Grandaddy sings in "Lost on Yer Merry Way".

Exhibit A:

We had a pre-birthday dinner with Rhiannon at one of her three favorite restaurants, Red Robin (the other two being Chili's and the Palms -- kidding about that last one, but she does dig on Chuck E. Cheese) at which she eschews chopped cow in favor of cheese pizza. Taking a break from her prima piatti to sip on peach nectar spiked with "white Pepsi" (Sprite), she engaged us in polite conversation:

"Jaden took his shirt off in the bathroom at school today." (giggles)

"Why was that, Rhiannon?"

"Emma asked him to."

"I see."

"And then I kissed him."

Forks down. "You kissed him? With his shirt off? In the boy's bathroom?"

Rhiannon giggles again. "No. We all have the same bathroom."

"But you kissed him." Reality is sinking in. "And he had no shirt on."

"Yeah." Giggles again. "He's my new boyfriend."

Papa (me) puts his hand to his head. Readers of this blog might recall that Rhiannon was (and is) still married to Anthony, her toddlerhood sweetheart boy-next-door. They got married at Chuck E. Cheese in Kenosha. He gave her an enormous plastic diamond ring, and she gave him bling to wear around his neck, a plastic gold chain with "$" suspended from it. They danced and played games and ate pizza. I am happy to say they were apart on their wedding night. I know kids today are way more advanced with that stuff than I was (and still am), but holy crow.

"Anthony's a wife-beater," Rhiannon used to say (I am not making this up). "I like Jaden now."

Who knows? Hunter might be next. Or maybe Haley. It is the 21st century after all....

Rhiannon. Tartly cute.

Papa (Andrew)