Saturday, 5 November 2016

Are You a Grump Over Trump? Here's a Baby






Like most of you, I am sick to death of watching an orange-tinged orangutan with scrawny biceps, a big belly and tiny baby hands.






 And don't get me started on that helmet-haired dame who reminds me of Dr. Evil.

Don't tell me that hasn't occurred to you.


It's like watching an endless loop on the Zoomer Channel, not CNN which has turned into a gigantic infomercial for Trump Resorts, a reality series about the goofs that run the FBI, and Bill Clinton's nose. Get him to a vein clinic, stat!

I'm also tired of shrill Latisse- and Botox-loving blondes wearing jumpsuits, named after Best in Show dogs and home shopping channel mavens, who have nothing better to do with their days than scrapping with blacks and Latinos. I guess none of these people have day jobs.

The only fun I get is trying to figure out how old Barbara Starr is or even if she is still alive, and watching John King squirm while sitting next to his ex, Dana Bash.

"Did you feed the baby?"

"I thought it was your week?"

"Where is the baby, anyway? Oh here he is, under the desk!"

I mean, how do any of these people have time for families?

This American election is making my head hurt.

It makes me wish I had hearing aids so I can turn them off.

This week, I was so rattled, I had to come up with a contingency plan to get me off my CNN habit. So I reached into my own family and out popped this little critter.



Her name is Kennedy Rose. How ironic given the current state of play.

Anyway, the only orange monster she gives a hoot about is on PBS.




Kenny, as we like to call her, is my granddaughter. She is seven months old, half white, half black, a modern Canadian who would be deported by Donald Trump if she lived in America because her father is from Paris, is a Hip Hop artist, and is a landed immigrant.

He's all of the things Trump abhors. Black. French. Creative. Not Putin.

Thankfully, Kenny was born in Canada under a Trudeau regime.

Therefore, she is Justified -- so she gets to stay.

Kenny is my new boss.

I lost my other jobs -- one professional, one retail -- to changing consumer habits, and globalization.

Her mother offered up the opportunity for me to mind Kenny while she and her husband brave the outside world to bring home the kale, and only sometimes the bacon.

I snapped at the opportunity.

How did I get this lucky?

I work only days, in my own home, and I get to write off a lot of stuff, including toys and avocados. Note to self: must learn how to depreciate a Fisher Price sing-a-long. Is there an app for that?

Anyway, it's been an absolute delight this past week getting to know the Artist Previously Known as La Squish. She is inquisitive, lively, musical, bossy, tearful, smiley and bright-eyed. She has put me through my paces.

Sometimes, she talks back, but she never argues.

Really, she just gurgles, which makes me want to give Donald Trump a pill and turn him into Benjamin Button. You, there, you need a freakin' time out. Now your body matches your hands!

The best thing that Kenny has done is break my CNN habit.

Because I am a responsible Mama Rose, I now share the television with her and her grandpa.



We get to watch it when she is asleep.

The odd time, she lets me watch CNN.

She's not fussy about the candidates. There's only one guy who makes her stop, pivot in her activity chair, and watch.

He's nice, and kinda looks like her Dad.

He smiles a lot, and makes everybody feel warm and fuzzy.

Unfortunately, for Kenny and me, he's currently off the menu.












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