“
I tried to bend over and touch my toes this morning,” I tell the girls. “I tipped over, hit my head on the desk, and then had to call for Nana to get up. I’m literally the size of an Oompa Loompa.”
“You’re the most beautiful Oompa Loompa in the world,” Hope declares.
“Because she’s not orange.”
“Oompa Loompas were orange?” I try to conjure up a mental picture of them but can only recall their white overalls.
Carin purses her lips. “Were they supposed to be candies? Like orange slices? Or maybe candy corn?”
“They were squirrels,” Hope informs us.
“No way,” we both say at once.
“Yes way. I read it on the back of a Laffy Taffy when I was like ten. It was a trivia question and I’d just seen the movie. I was terrified of squirrels for years afterwards.”
“Shit. Learn something new every day.” I push my body upright, a task that takes a certain amount of upper body strength these days, and toddle over to inspect the crib.
“I don’t believe you,” Carin tells Hope. “The movie is about candy. It’s called Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Since when are squirrels candies? I can buy into a bunny because, you know, the chocolate Easter bunnies, but not a squirrel.”
“Look it up, Careful. I’m right.”
“You’re ruining my childhood.” Carin turns to me. “Don’t do this to your daughter.”
“Raise her to believe Oompa Loompas are squirrels?”
“Yes
”
”