When we were in Florida, Hubby and I consented to a "no, really, you'll love it and want to buy into it" sales presentation at the Wyndham resort where we were staying, to get a fantastic deal on some SeaWorld tickets. A presentation, mind you, that was promised to just be "an hour and a half."
I could write a whole post about how our 10:45 appointment lasted until after 1:30 (when we finally got back to our suite), and how certain idiots don't understand the concept of our trip's budget, spread out over the course of a year, would get us enough points to stay here or there or wherever, but would then use up all our vacation money, so we'd never be able to travel. Yeah, you yahoos, our vacation budget included everything: gas, hotels, food, entertainment, souvenirs. Not just lodging. Some serious ID10T ailments there. All this to get tickets and all-day-eating passes for five people for under $600. It was a good deal...but I don't know that I'd sit through such a horrendous event for that again. We belong to AAA for a reason.
But I digress.
We are probably at nearly the 2-hour mark of the sales guy's spiel, and I really have to give him props for being charmed by the Fries as opposed to irritated, even when they gave him the nickname "Funny Face." We have insisted that we cannot afford this, like it or not; sorry, he won't be getting a sale today. We have some things creeping on the horizon that are more important than vacation points ownership in the Wyndham Resorts family, swanky and sweet as their resorts are.
We explained a little of our situation, that the Fries are our nieces, to the sales guy, just by way of making our argument that we have to do what's right for our whole family. He finally took his leave to go get the guy who would rubber-stamp that we had said no, authorize the paper to let us cash in on our SeaWorld deal, and probably try to convince us that we couldn't let this deal pass by (he did; we refused).
Inbetween smarmy salesmen, Small Fry looked at me. "Do I hafta be youwr niece?" she asked.
My attention immediately zeroed in on her alone. Crap, crap, crap. They find security in being your children, not your nieces. Ummm... "Well, you are my niece," I said carefully. "Did you want to be my daughter instead?"
Small's face lit up like she was smuggling a halogen bulb. "Yes!"
"That's good." I leaned into her space with a grin, and she giggled. "Because you are my daughter, too." I smooched her cheek for emphasis.
The SeaWorld tickets were a great deal. We had a marvelous time. I can't wait to be able to go back.
But that little conversation?
That's the only thing that truly made almost three tedious, boring, why-won't-you-shut-up-and-take-no-for-an-answer hours worth it.
Small didn't want to be my niece. It wasn't enough.
She wanted to be my daughter.
Oh, honey. You have been for more than five years.
And you always will be.