She's Just a Victim of the Ghetto?
Recently, we were driving home to Saint Paul, Minnesota, after gymnastics class in Oakdale, Minnesota. We worked our way west on Larpenteur Avenue, past Phalen Lake toward our house near Como Lake. We take the slow route so that we can enjoy the journey and a little bit of the splendor that is summer in St. Paul. We could very easily take I-94 West to I-35E north to Larpenteur or Wheelock or Maryland. Doing so would take at least 15 minutes off the trip, but then we’d miss so many wonderful things:
The two Asian girls, neither more than six, zipping along on one of those super tiny motorcycles (that go faster than they should), no parent in sight, no helmets.
The man, walking around the lake with his monkey.
The classic cars, TinyE is obsessed with classic cars these days. She’s also fond of saying “that’s not a car, it’s a convertible.”
Therefore, we take the scenic route. And so recently, just as we approached Rice Street, as we made our way down a gently sloping hill under the shade of a few mature oak trees, my daughter said without a trace of irony – she’s only four and doesn’t do irony - “Daddy, we should go on a vacation.”
And I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “oh honey, I’m sure you could use a break from it all, you absolutely must be exhausted.”
But my daughter doesn’t do sarcasm either, and she’s not one to be out done, so, without pausing, she deftly tapped me on the chest with her rhetorical sword, being kind enough to leave the “touché” unsaid –
“Yes,” she said “sometimes it’s too much in St. Paul.”
I’m exploring vacation options now.
Any ideas? I'm leaning toward San Diego.