“Girl that tickles,” I screeched loudly jerking way smiling from ear to ear as the three old giggled but determinedly continued in the task she had talked me into letting her do. Being a man, I have always been a sucker for younger women especially when they are three and call me daddy Roy, not to mention I have always allowed women of all ages to torture me, mashing bumps, plucking unwanted hairs, et cetera. The little Sierra had been a part of my life for over a year and a half and though talking plainly at this age she had been my very own personal and private therapist since the first day that I strained to understand her at the age of eighteen months. God blessed me with her to help heal my broken heart and soul, by placing her into my life to replace my only daughter who died at the age of eighteen in a car accident the year previous. She was both a blessing and a curse at times, a sincere blessing because of her unconcealed love for me and the joy she brought me, a curse because watching her play and live her little life I sometimes saw my baby girl when she was that age, which in turn made me cry. I am thankful for the time allowed for me to know her though now her I miss too!
Being a divorced man of many years is not an easy thing because of children. Allow me to explain, when you progress in a relationship with a new and exciting woman she brings you into her none dating life and you meet her children. If all goes well an attachment develops to her kids but after the newness of the relationship fades away you often do not make it, thus the children lose another step daddy.This breaking childrens hearts deeply troubles me so after a breakup I will not date for years. I worry so about the children and the long-term effects, because all they ever know is men abandoning them, which can lead to mistrust of men. Their mothers are grown up girls and they can handle the breakup with nothing more than a shrug,(slight pun), but the children still believe in fairy tells and happily ever after so I become gun shy and want to never be the killer of young dreams ever again. So Sierra now six, her nine year old brother Donald, and I have become estranged after their mothers and mine breakup a year and a half ago, though every time they see me they still climb me like a tree covering me with hugs, kisses, and love! Enough of the self-pity and now back to the story!
Sierra was turning into a full-fledged little girl at the age of three with the obvious help of her beautician mother and like all young girls; she of course wanted to be like her mother, so thence the night of the purty toes! As I said earlier, I was wrapped, unlike the music from the new generation, but the wrapped all decent men of the world experience after becoming wrapped around the little finger of a precious little girl who loved you. Not for your looks, your money, or prestige but rather she loved you because you were plain ole you. Oops, there I again down another rabbit hole!
The thing that was tickling so badly was her applying nail polish, and to prove my ignorance, I agreed to a multi-color theme. Between her petite little fingers and the bristles from the many nail polish brushes, I was being tortured on top of her scolding, “To stay still.”
“I am trying baby girl Sierra,” I said.
“Try harder daddy Roy,” she exclaimed with authority.
“Only for you girl,” I said trying hard to concentrate on my breathing. “You better,” she said attacking the next toe.
“I will,” I promised while admiring her artwork and giggling as she
tried hard to paint between the lines so to speak, which is all but impossible for a three year old. To add to the spectacle of the different colored paints on all my toe nails andlittle piggys was the cotton balls she had pinched between all my digits, which in its own right was quite ticklish.
Suffering through the ticklish torture of that night, I was glad it was the dead of winter so no one would see my feet, giving the nail polish time to dissolve before flip-flop time. Thinking my secret was safe because winter would conceal her masterpiece, (which Sierra commented upon daily by saying, “They areso purty”), then my worst fears were exposed because I was continuously narced out. Donald her six year old brother at the time was the first to rat me out at church one nightsaying, “Daddy Roy has girly toes!”
Since that first night at the church Sierra had joined her brother in the festivities of exposing my secret as they both informed the public, at malls, restaurants, stores, in front of the families, etc. but all things must come to an end and the nail paint wore off. I now have regrets that I did not let her reapply the nail color once again, if I had only known that soon after our friendship would come to an end remembering the escapades of that joyful and ticklish night I now would welcome the high adventure known as the PURTY TOES!