So, I am the Pirate Queen. I know, I know. . . I should have told you all. But we don’t really talk about it.
That’s a lie. Todd finally told the kids about a year ago.
“Your Mother’s The Pirate Queen.”
I was a little miffed that he didn’t tell them i am The Bandit Queen, because i love her, but I guess Pirate Queen is pretty bitchin’ too. The kids were in awe. They scream and get that scared look when I play pirate queen. We even have an old trunk in our bedroom that belonged to my Aunt Lessie. Todd told the kids that they can’t go into the trunk because it contains a skeleton. In reality, it holds:
a couple of tees that belonged to the kids when they were babies
Love letters and crap from a couple of ex-boyfriends (guess i should get rid of them, but i think they are funny)
three old hat boxes
mardi gras beads
college diploma and cap and gown
pennies
photos
God knows what else. (I don’t open it! There’s a skeleton in there!)
So, the other day, Tiller and I were at Jason’s Deli. The cool thing about JD is that they have both ice cream and a salad bar. I can get healthy stuff and tiller can get diabetes. Win win.
So, we are sitting there. Tiller has her ice cream cone in one hand and her potato chip in another, dipping the chips into the ice cream. Her hair makes her look like a mental patient, because she cut it herself that morning with craft scissors. I am on my iPhone, getting my ass kicked in Scrabble by Jerry Kane, which is sad, because i have like a million hours to come up with a play while Tiller, the slowest eater in the East, finishes her Ice Cream Chips.
Tiller whispers, pointing a finger over my head, her eyes HUGE in her face: “Mama.”
Me, distractedly, because how am I going to overcome the damn EIGHTY POINT WORD JERRY KANE JUST LAID ON ME? “Yes, baby?”
Tiller: “Mama, look. It’s a pirate.” Her frightened whisper catches my attention.
Me, pushing her pointing finger down to the tabletop: “Baby, it’s not nice to point.” I look over my right shoulder as a man walks past. I watch him walk to his table, his back to us, then he pulls out a chair, sits down, and his face is revealed to me as he turns to his dining partner.
He’s wearing an eye patch.
The Decemberists’ The Bandit Queen, for reference: