As you may know, Princess and I are terribly cultured. We demonstrated this by going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Snippets from our conversation include:
In the Arms & Armory Wing: “I love that sword! Think of all the people I could smite with that!”
Also, “That armor is so pretty! Now I want armor, too.”
In the Impressionist area: “I like how everything is so swirly and smeary.”
In the sculpture garden: “Want me to take a picture of you in front of that naked boy statue?”
In front of the lamppost in the American Wing courtyard: “Oooh! Narnia!”
In the Egypt wing: “That mummy case looks like Kim Kardashian.”
“There’s your sarcophagus. Time for bed! In you go!”
In the modern stuff, in front of a painting of large blue square: “Ah. Art,” and also “I could do that in about five minutes.”
We went out for dinner, pleased that the restaurant had us sitting next to each other, instead of facing so we could see the same patrons and speculate about them. We both had cappuccinos, which proved to be a bad choice when we got the super-caffeinated giggles on the train ride back to Connecticut, annoying everyone around us (which, unfortunately, only made us laugh harder).
The nicest part of the day was this, though…we still hold hands. She’s in college now, becoming a wonderful adult, but she still holds my hand. Maybe to look out for me as I try to jaywalk, or maybe just to make sure I know she’s still my little girl.