In life, there are some things that are naturally meant to be together.
Pork and commuting.
Work and inertia.
Playoff Hockey and the month of June.
Donald Trump and the US Presidency.
Vegans and Steak.
Higher education and McDonald’s.
Gina and Yee!!!
Allow me to draw your attention to the following:
Gina Jr. or Gigi, my 9 year old niece and resident artist loves leaving her artwork around the house for all the blogosphere to enjoy.
I’d like to collect these drawings and share them for her Quinceanera in 6 years’ time.
I did the math there for any morons.
So what if we aren’t of Latin American descent?
Isn’t this type of festivity a great time to shatter cultural stereotypes and enjoy a mariachi band, piñata and tacos?
I apologize for being defensive.
Other people’s ignorance has a tendency to irk me.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that Natalie, my 12 year old niece is also an excellent artist.
Her Quinceanera is in 3 years’ time, and I want to make sure I get an invite.
I make a mental note to look up Mexican hat dance videos as reconnaissance on YouTube later.
I digress again.
Back to the drawing.
It makes me smile.
It’s a perfect depiction of our relationship.
I’m the loud obnoxious extrovert, front and centre.
Gigi my introverted sidekick is in my shadow.
Or maybe she was drawing us to scale.
Nah, that can’t be right.
I smile some more.
I look healthier than the last picture, where she had me dangling from a noose while being shot at over a pool of sharks.
Our relationship has progressed.
I enjoy this drawing for several reasons.
That’s one of my nicknames.
A throwback to the early days, when the kids couldn’t pronounce the “L”.
What was originally a speech impediment has stuck. That’s where all the great names come from, after all.
Li, Lidz, Yee, Lidzsters, Lee-dier….there are so many names I go by, but most of the family ones are inappropriate.
I have to keep this in mind as the Quinceanera speech won’t write itself.
I’m pleased to see there are directional arrows, indicating who is who.
On any given day, I smell like fried chicken, ham, beer or tacos.
Not at the same time though, that’s just gross.
Not having a nose isn’t the end of the world.
Could be worse.
What would I do with all of my shoes?
I feel sorry for Gigi.
She’ll never know what it’s like to spend several hundred dollars on shoes and not be able to pay for them.
Art mirroring life.
I can count exactly how much I owe with five fingers, not like the last time.
Is it an awful thought that this portion makes me hungry?
Does wanting to eat theses tacos that are seemingly stitched to me make for barbarism or resourcefulness?
I’m not sure why, but I make another mental note to go to a bra fitting soon.
Over to my niece, I have envy.
The grease stain indicates food rationing was successful.
Damn you hairy arm.
At least one of us was able to eat.
Overall, I’d give this picture a solid “A”.
All that’s missing are some happy little trees.
And more tacos.