Boys against the Girls

I have a recurring dream. Actually, I have a few. But for the sake of this discussion, I have one recurring dream. I suppose it's more of a nightmare, but I digress. It goes something like this...Chloe, or Beans, as I affectionately call her (An explanation of that will follow at a later time...) is having a tea party. Now, that in and of itself is not the nightmare, although I figure any number of men reading this are wondering how anything could be more disturbing. (As an aside, I have come to appreciate tea parties over the years - I have found that I look halfway decent in a princess crown. And, I get to enjoy pretend cake and muffins, while not feeling like I need to hop on the treadmill at the conclusion of the snack. It's a win-win.)

Before I continue, let me preface this story by saying that I enjoy my daughter a great deal. She is the younger of my two children (Shea is 5, and is a clone of my father. Paging Dr. Freud..) She is a bundle of energy. My mother has told me that if I had been a girl, I would have been Chloe - as if that's supposed to comfort me as I am bombarded with questions like, "Why do I look so cute in pink, but you don't?" Regardless, she is an incredible child, with an amazing imagination.

Now, where was I?? Ah, yes. Fake tea and cake. In this dream, I am sitting in my assigned seat at the tea party table, when all of a sudden, Chloe's pink horse (we'll call her "Horsey" to conceal her real identity), begins to speak to me in an up-tight, snotty, made for TV-movie British accent. Now, I've never been to England, but I'm pretty sure that horses don't talk, even over there. I am about to converse with "Horsey" when Chloe looks at me, and says, "Daddy, animals don't talk." Confusion sets in, as I am simultaneously listening to my daughter explain the ins and outs of animal conversation, while watching "Horsey" grow to the size of an elephant. It is at this point that the pink giant takes my cake, gobbles it in one huge bite, and laughs a laugh that can only be explained as a mix between Richard Simmons on crack, and Howie Mandel seconds after he realizes that another poor sap chose the wrong suitcase. Now, I don't know why I've had this dream more than once. Maybe I need to make nice with the horses in my life (???) Maybe I really DO like pink. Maybe fake food is wreaking havoc on my digestive system. Anyway you look at it, I am now scared to death of the tea party. But I can't seem to stop wearing this crown....