Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“You look like a bunny!” She loudly giggles, so lost in her joy that she barely notices the additional yogurt she’s got on her frame.
“Should Daddy do Nanny Joey?” His head impishly tips to one side. “I think Daddy should do Nanny Joey.”
I think Daddy should do Joey too but not in the way that he’s currently describing.
Dear Mrs. Claus, I can’t remember the last time anyone “did Nanny Joey” so to speak.
Or that Joey enjoyed having anyone do her.
Ugh.
Sometimes I forget just how much third person referral isn’t my fav even if it’s necessary.
“Yeah!” Bella practically leaps out of her seat. “Yeah! Yeah!” Her finger flies to her lip to taste the new food. “Do Nanny Joey! Do Nanny Joey!”
“I’ll happily do Nanny Joey,” my boss states, gripping my chin exactly like he did a couple days ago at the game. And just like then, my eyes instantly become half hooded at the same time I uncontrollably shiver in his clutches. Forget how to breathe. How to think. How to do anything other than simply feel. “We can be together.”
No.
We can’t.
I don’t date athletes or celebrities or any other lives in the public eye people.
More importantly?
I have a strict do not bang the boss rule that no matter what glitch in the memory matrix may occur is impossible to forget.
“Uh bunnies together,” Igor murmurs out while giving my face the same treatment I gave his. “That’s what I meant.” His quick sweeps across my left cheek make it easier for him to avoid eye contact. “But of course you knew that’s what I meant.” He repeats the doodle to the right. “You don’t need me to spell ish out for you.” A small cringe is flashed on his face upon him finishing. “Why am I saying all this ish out loud? Why am I rambling like I’m Dickens gettin’ paid by the installments?”
“Do you mean by the word?”
“Net.” His index finger slides briefly into his mouth to remove the remains. “Common misconception.”
Kind of like hockey players being dumber than a bag of coal.
Igor fails to hide his smile as he shoots his stare back to Bella. “Now, Nanny Joey’s a pretty bunny too.”
I manage to cut my gaze in her direction just in time to see her lick more yogurt off her fingers between giggles.
The burly man next to me sucks in a giant gasp, obviously ready to point out the monumental moment, to celebrate the huge victory, yet I quickly place my hand on his thigh and state, “Science time is over. You did a fantastic job.”
“Thank you!”
“Can you go wash your hands in your bathroom, please?”
She picks up a green apple that’s been splashed by the stark white dairy product. “When ballet?”
“First, you wash your hands. Next, you have playtime in your room. And last, we’ll get ready for ballet.” Bella crunches on the fruit while nodding, which prompts me to ask. “Can you repeat that for me?”
“First, hands.” The empty palm is presented. “Next, play in my room.”
“And then?” Igor anxiously inquires.
“Last,” I whisper out the correction for him to quickly make.
“And last, Princess?” He swiftly rephrases.
“Ballet!”
“Molodets!” Igor exclaims, tossing both fists into the air.
“Moyzits!” His daughter echoes, half the apple sticking out of her mouth.
Okay, I have seen things too cute to believe, but this has got to take the peppermint chip cookie.
Bella prepares to climb out of the chair when I point out, “Chewing, we stay put. Nothing in mouth, you can move your foot.”
The reminder to finish her food is well received considering she giggles, hastily finishes, and presents me with thumbs up.
Igor and I watch her happily skip off to the stairs, not saying another word until she’s completely out of earshot. At that point, he viciously bites, “Why the fuck didn’t you let me celly her win?!”
His ire has me snatching my hand away; although, technically, I should’ve already done it by now.
What is the matter with me?
Is my blood sugar low or some shit?
“You celly the dubs!” Igor hostilely turns in my direction. “You always celly the dubs! That’s like rookie parenting shit! You should know that!” There isn’t even time to think about opening my mouth. “All that goddamn experience you supposedly have-”
“I do have.”
“-and you don’t know that?!”
“I know that if you keep fucking yelling at me like I’m one of the boys at practice instead of the woman in charge of assisting in this household that you’re gonna be back to scouting every Little Gym, Jamba Juice, and private playground you haven’t been kicked out of for my goddamn replacement.”
Stunned silence is Christmas carols to my ears.
“And the reason we didn’t celebrate her achievement is because we don’t want her eating things for praise. We want her eating them because she likes them. Because she genuinely has an interest in them. We don’t want an unhealthy bond being swapped for the unhealthy fear.”