Who’s your daddy?

Maya has taken to pointing to any man in the grocery store, cul de sac, the Gap..and asking me in this hopeful voice, “Mom is that my Dad?” Like I’m some Maury reject who is having a difficult time locating my baby daddy. Why do they drop the possessives in ebonics?

We were in the Acme yesterday, picking up cherries, some organic milk, whole wheat tortillas…we turned into the frozen vegetables aisle and…there was a tall white man. Maya stood up in the grocery cart and asked particularly woefully, “Mommy, is that my Daddy?” That’s when I shoved a whole oreo cookie in her mouth and hightailed it out of there….listening to all the other acme moms snickering at the indian chick driving the silver odyssey who didn’t know who her baby daddy was….

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Relentlessly punctual, hedonist denim-head. Inked, vain, lover of shoes, clothes, and handbags, but mostly lost causes.

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