The Girls

I have two daughters— a 2-year-old and a 5-month-old and although their names are Alexandra (Alex) and Charlotte (Charley) everyone insists on referring to them as “the girls.”

While it’s a totally reasonable (and very accurate) description of them, no matter who says it (my mom, my boss, my husband, my priest, the guy who works the deli counter at the Acme) as soon as I hear it, I immediately think that they are talking about my boobs.

Awwwwwkward.

To illustrate this point, here’s a list of things people have said to me recently about the girls. (I mean my daughters. Not my boobs. You know, just in case you needed clarification. See how confusing it can get?)

Anyway, as you read each quote, just replace “the girls” with “your boobs” and you’ll start to understand the gravity of the situation. 

“Wow! The girls are getting so big.”
“Saw a picture of the girls on Facebook. They’re almost the same size!”
“The girls are the spitting image of your husband.”
“I miss the girls so much. I just want to squeeze them!”
“The girls were amazing last night—they’re so well behaved!”
“You should feed the girls before we leave. They look hungry.”
“Let’s Facetime! I haven’t seen the girls in forever.”
“We should give the girls a bath tonight. We don’t want them to look sloppy for their Christmas photos.”
“Have you introduced the girls to Santa yet?”
“My parents can’t wait to play with the girls.”
“The girls are so snuggly.”
“You look exhausted. Let me handle the girls while you sleep.”

And, I wasn’t kidding about the deli worker at the Acme who knows my two-year old has an affinity for processed meat and said, “Where are the girls today? The salami is waiting!”

Yeah, like I said, awkward.

I’m just glad I’m not the father of two boys.
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