The Safety Pin Affair

t w e l v e - boys have cooties, right?

the playful conversation starts,
counter all your quick remarks
like passing notes in s e c r e c y . . .

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The next morning, my butt is squeezed into a tiny pink rocking chair, I've got three cups of fake tea in front of me, and I'm pretty sure there's glitter in my hair.

Glitter from what? I have no idea.

In other words, it's a typical Saturday morning babysitting Gracie.

We've been having a tea party for a little while now, but it seems like I've been ditched because I'm alone at the play table in her room. Well, I'm also sitting with Princess Gertrude, Penelope the Pony, and Boo Bear so technically, I'm not all alone.

Gracie had gotten distracted and was digging through her Barbie dolls, sitting on the floor in a princess costume that doesn't match whatsoever. A pink and white dress, lime green plastic slippers and a blue crown with a veil.

"Did you finish all your tea?" She called out to me.

"Yes I did," I sang. "Are we playing Barbie's now?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm still deciding," she sighed, brushing one doll's hair with a tiny toy hair brush.

I sighed and got out of the uncomfortable rocking chair, taking a seat by her on the floor. I took a doll in my hands and toyed with the outfit out of boredom. She's wearing a purple dress with birthday cakes printed on it, white heels, and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. I guess it was her birthday or something.

"Boys have cooties, right Vicky?" Gracie asked innocently out of nowhere.

I looked at her with my eyebrows knitted together, and her big blue eyes stared back at me with curiosity gleaming in them.

"They definitely do," I chuckled, nodding my head firmly.

"Okay," she nodded too as she went back to playing with her doll. "Because Amelia told me that they don't but I think she's wrong."

"Well, here's the thing. All boys have cooties. But eventually when they get older, they grow out of them," I explained with a small smile.

"Oh. Is that why Mommy likes Daddy? Because he grew out of his cooties?" She asked.

"Pretty much, yes," I agreed.

"And is that why you like Josh?"

I sputtered out a response that made no sense, stumbling over my words and choking on air. What?

"W-what makes you think that I like Josh?" I laughed it off, shaking my head at her assumption.

She shrugged her little shoulders and looked up at me. "You were smiling a lot around him. And he was smiling at you," she said it so simply. "But it wasn't just a normal smile. It was the kind like when Mommy smiles at Daddy on their special day."

I couldn't stop the grin from growing on my face, the racing of my heart, or the burning in my cheeks.

She's five and she knows more about love than I do.