We promised the girls an afternoon of glow-in-the-dark mini-putting. We put on our finest glow-in-the-dark attire, balaclavas and headed out to be fitted with our multi-coloured putters.
The “NOW OPEN” sign was boldly hung above a notice of foreclosure on the front door. That did not last long.
We had to salvage the day but how?
The same plaza had a nail salon that I had taken the girls to in the summer and because it was the eve of Ellie’s fifth b-day, I thought they might enjoy a little pampering in the form of having their nails painted.
All five of us piled into the Vietnamese salon without appointments and the owner was most accommodating, providing us with waxes where necessary, finger nail painting and a manicure for mommy while I waited for the rest of the crew.
Manicurist: You have three kids?
Me: Yes, three girls.
Manicurist: Third baby accident or plan?
Wow.
Me: She was planned.
Manicurist: I like to look her eyes. She look Korean.
Me: I have heard that before.
Manicurist: Eyes curve at one side and tight at one side. (she used the nail clippers to demonstrate on her face how my baby’s eyes are shaped)
I wish I could say I had no idea what she was talking about but she is NOT the first person to tell me our baby has some characteristics similar to those found in Asian babies. But today it was confirmed by the Vietnamese girl whose nails were so disgusting I couldn’t believe she was touching me that the race of our very much wanted, planned, third child is not vaguely “Asian” but most definitely Korean.
The strange thing is, for months we’ve been teased by people that she’s not really ours AND we happen to have some Korean friends who we haven’t seen in approximately fifteen months so that doesn’t help squash anyone’s curiosity.
I needed a break from the madness so we stopped at a restaurant (again at the girl’s request) so Ellie could whisper in her loudest, outdoor whisper, “Mommy, tell them it’s my birthday,” every time one of the wait staff passed our table.
I excused myself and took Sonya-Lee for a diaper change to the bathroom. I looked her in her beautiful eyes, tight at one side, curve at other and she gave me a lean-on-your-shoulder baby hug. It was delightful. She’s ours.
I pounded the folding table back into the wall and waited behind a woman at the sink. She was 3’7” tall with 6” heels which even on the kiddie stool still just brought her up to my nipples. She did something peculiar that made me forget about the mini-putting company that couldn’t even keep a business open long enough to pay to have a permanent “We’re Open” signed installed and the girl who without saying it or perhaps did and it was lost in translation asked, “Who’s your baby daddy?”
The very cute dwarf lady, squirted three pumps of the Pepto Bismal pink soap out of the dispenser and while I expected her to lather her hands and rinse, she instead smeared the soap on her upper and lower teeth with two fingers and rinsed with a paper cup, swirling the water around and spitting out pink, foam before hopping off the stool and exiting the room.
“Annyeonghi gaseyo!” we called after her. No response.
