We were driving the other day and Abigail randomly asked me, "How old do you have to be to be President?"
"Uhm, 35, I think... yeah, 35." I reply confidently.
"Oh good, I only have 30 more years!"
And then Olivia quickly pipes up, "Yeah and Mom, by then you'll be 61!"
"Ugh, oh man I don't want to be 61." I said.
"Well then you better hope you die before the next 30 years is up!" Abigail says from the backseat without missing a beat.
Well she's sure right. Being 61 certainly beats the alternative.
Earlier the same day I tried on this handkerchief that a friend made me for Disneyland. I tied it around my head, Rose the riveter style. I asked Abigail what she thought.
"Are you seriously going to wear that? OUTSIDE? No, no, take it off! Take it off. You look like someone from THE 90'S! A CLEANING LADY FROM THE 90's!"
She is a crack up.
