As the story goes, when my Dad was a wee baby, Grammy Ireland (Ruth) came home with a new snowsuit for her little guy. Of course, being like most mamas, she immediately wanted to see her purchase modeled by her toddler. So, for unclear reasons, Ruth put her naked baby in the snowsuit. She then zipped with a freakish enthusiasm that is a common trait amongst the Irelands.
My father let out a bloodcurdling yowl that could be heard to Boston (they lived ninety minutes away on Cape Cod) as his peen was zippered into the suit. It was a miracle that she didn’t maim his goodies to the point that I was never born. Needless to say, that snowsuit NEVER saw a snowy day, as the very sight of it threw my father into a fit of hysteria.
Sixty-three years to the women’s restroom at Chik-Fil-A, I was standing over the toilet, coaxing my girl to finish tinkling so we could join the rest of the family for dinner. When she finished her business, in a moment of Frenzied Ireland Gusto, I zipped her uniform skirt on the side of her hip.
Hadley screamed in pain. I had committed the same horrific crime as my grandmother before me.
For the rest of her young childhood, Hadley would not let me near any of her zippers. Not her uniform skirt, not her jackets, and most certainly not her footed pajamas.
If I was so bold as to put my fingers near a zipper on her person, I heard, “No, Mama! You hurt me!”
Of all the family traits that I could have shared with Grammy Ireland, her cooking skills, her cleaning skills, or her ability to maintain her weight, but no, I had to become a Criminally Insane Zipperer.
You have to love genetics.
Am I the only one who almost lost her Mom Card on multiple occasions? BABS is a safe place to share your mishaps (and they can't be worse than mine?!).
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