“Oh my Maj . . . The pool is empty, Mother.”
“So?”
“What did I tell you, Mother? I said only insane people swim at the crack of dawn. The pool is empty because no one else is insane, Mother. I told you I did not want to go swimming this morning, but here I am, being forced into a bathing suit at an ungodly hour and thrown into the pool.”
“It’s 10:00 am and the sun is shining and the pool is heated and your sister is in the pool, and no one is throwing you anywhere.”
“Did I not say that I did not want to go swimming? Did I not speak the words, I DO NOT WANT TO GO SWIMMING?”
“You may have, but I am taking a vacation from listening to you.”
“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”
“Huh. Turns out I am also taking a vacation from answering testy incredulous queries.”
“Well, that’s just great. THIS IS HOW I TALK, MOTHER. Whether or not we are on vacation, THIS IS HOW I TALK. Deal with it, Mother . . . just because we are on vacation, that does not mean you get to vacate the Maj.”
“Hee hee . . . I am so vacating the Maj.”
“Mother, what will become of me if you will not listen to the words I say? I have things to communicate that must be understood!”
“Good thing you’ve been taking that mime class, then.”
“I HAVE NOT BEEN TAKING A MIME CLASS . . . LISTEN TO ME, MOTHER WOMAN.”
“Oooh . . . Do that thing where you are trapped in a box. I love when mimes do that.”
“I’m not swimming. You can force me to the pool, but you cannot make me swim.”
“Oooh . . . you are a mime horse!”
“What?”
“I have led you to mime water, but you will not drink! I love the mime horse!”
“Mother, I am going to sit at this table with you. I refuse to accommodate your whims of loon.”
“Nope. If you are not going to swim with your sister, go sit somewhere else.”
“There is space at this table, Mother.”
“It might appear that way, but these chairs are actually taken by my imaginary children. They are eating doughnuts and making lists of all the ways they love me, and they cannot be disturbed.”
“I can’t sit with you?”
“Are you making a list of all the ways you love me?”
“It would be a short list. Also, why do your invisible better-loved children get doughnuts?”
“I like my invisible children round and pudgy. So guess what, skinny child? Step away from the sweet invisible dough and find another table.”
“This is madness.”
“Look, Maj! I will do a crazy wiggle dance and throw my hands in the air and howl silently at an unseen moon . . . It’s mime madness, Maj!”
“Oh my god.”
“So you’ll go swimming?”
“I WILL NOT BE FORCED TO HAVE FUN!”
“But you’ll go swimming?”
“Fine.”
“OK, so let me put some sunscreen on you.”
“Mother, it is ten in the morning. I do not need sunscreen.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone, Mother. Sunscreen is for after lunch. Everyone knows that. DID YOU JUST SPRAY SUNSCREEN ON MY LEGS? DESIST, WOMAN! DESIST!”
“You can’t get in the pool without sunscreen.”
“I DON’T EVEN WANT TO GET IN THE POOL! STOP SUNSCREENING ME!”
“Let me just get your back!”
“STOP THIS PROTECTIVE ASSAULT IMMEDIATELY!”
“And then some for your arms . . .”
“Mother, you are not listening to me!”
“I already told you . . . I am taking a vacation from listening to you.”
“So we came to San Diego so that I could be unpersoned?”
“Why are you still talking? Mime your unhappiness, Maj.”
“I AM, MOTHER. LOOK . . . AT . . . ME.”
“You are going to be a superstar in the Sullen Mime Hoedown! Your daddy and I will be so proud.”
“There is no such thing as a Sullen Mime Hoedown, Mother.”
“I think there is . . . Mimes are a crabby bunch, what with the boxes and the misbehaving escalators and the horses and all.”
“DO NOT SPRAY MY FACE, MOTHER! I USE THE RUBBY STUFF ON MY FACE.”
“Fine, you do your face.”
“Fine.”
“So you are going swimming?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always, babe.”
“UGH . . . you are so annoying.”
“Turns out I am taking a vacation from pleasant.”
“THAT IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE.”
“And yet . . . done. Look . . . I made a reservation. Here’s my ticket . . . One reserved seat for unpleasant.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
SPLASH!
“Mother, watch me do a somersault in the water!”
“Good job, Maj.”
“Mother, watch me swim across the pool!”
“Good job, Maj.”
“Kallan, we have the pool all to ourselves! We should go swimming in the morning every day we are here!”
Kallan agrees, “Good plan, Maj.”
Maj turns back to me, “Mother, if I mime drowning, you better move your life-saving booty.”
“Got it.”
“We should go on vacations more often, Mother.”
“Yup.”
“I love vacations!”
“Me too.”
Also? I am a hoot on vacation, Mother.”
“A hoot?”
“Like an owl, Mother.”
Snort.
Or rather . . .
Hoot.
