Memoirs of a Fat Girl

I have been invited to a birthday party, and a bridal shower. They are on the same weekend. I am going to the birthday party because the invitation came first, and because I actually want to wish my cousin's husband, Shawn, a happy 40th. Of everyone who has married into our family, he is definitely at the top of the favourites list. Plus, I get to spend the weekend with their little girls, who are five and almost two. The five-year old, Jinny, is Oli's goddaughter. Joy, the almost terrible two, is my goddaughter.

I am not a lover of children. I love being around them, on my own schedule, and I especially love when their parents take them home. Let them deal with worry and sleepless nights. But I get such a kick from being around those two kids, I can't even begin to tell you. Our times are laughter, cupcakes, shrieking, chasing, swing sets and tea parties. Around them, I can be a kid again, too.

Moreoever, there's a family joke that Maggie, our cousin, gave birth to junior versions of me and Oli. Jinny is obsessed with fashion and chocolate, just like my sister. She has dimples, twinkling eyes, and secret admirers in every pocket of the neighbourhood. Joy has green eyes, crazy curly hair that sticks up in every direction, babbles endlessly, and buries herself in books befitting her age. In fact, the first thing she says every morning she wakes up, and her last request every night is, "book book."

They are, the both of them, full of sass. For instance, last Christmas, little Joy tottered around everyone, pointing her little finger and calling us all by name. Grandma was grandma. Mommy was Mommy. Auntie Oli was Auntie Oli, and I was Sprinkle. Sprinkle is their dog. No matter how much sugar I bribed the kid with, at the end of the day she left for home calling me Sprinkle.

Being the older, Jinny is fully conversational and therefore, can be a lot more, oh, colourful.

Last summer during one of their visits, she was on my bed playing with her Polly Pockets. I don't get the full jist of Polly Pockets, but I know it involves dressing and accessorizing girl dolls. Jinny was attempting to fit on a skirt but was having trouble with it and said, "Stupid skirt won't fit on the stupid butt."

Maggie and Shawn are crazy strict with the language their daughters use. I remember saying "fart" once in front of the girls, and eyes popped out of heads. This is what led to my asking Jinny this question: "Now sweetie, is 'butt' a bad word?"

Jinny looked me dead in the eye and without missing a beat, said "No, but fuck is."

My chin hit the ground and I had to excuse myself to laugh in private. Wouldn't you?