A few days ago, my daughter had a playdate. As I’m sure many of you can understand, it’s stressful enough to make sure that your house is relatively clean, your child doesn’t become territorial about his/her things and that you don’t say or do anything embarrassing as parents either.
Well, time was running out prior to their arrival and our refrigerator door wasn’t closing because I had a bottle of almost-empty two-month-old sangria blocking the sensor – so out of sheer desperation, I did the first thing that came to mind and just removed the offending item from the fridge completely.
The first place I thought of was the floor of my office closet, which I know sounds totally ridiculous but was the only room in the house that’s typically left alone by visitors. So the bottle went in, the closet doors were closed, and the office room was vacated. Before long, it was completely forgotten, and the playdate began.
Let’s fast-forward, however, to approximately two hours later. I’m sitting in the living room, chatting with the mom, when I hear the door to my office open. Shortly thereafter, the other kid says, “what’s that?” to which my daughter ever-so-casually responds, “oh that? That’s just my mom’s wine.”
“Your mom keeps wine in her closet? That’s weird. And a little scary. Does she have a drinking problem?” asks the kid.
“Maybe,” my daughter replies. “My mom has a lot of problems.”
So there goes another playdate down the tubes, courtesy of yours truly and my ever-so-candid daughter, who will never be accused of not calling it like she sees it. I can’t even imagine what the conversation must have sounded like on the drive home, but I’m fairly certain it was memorable…