Oh. The. Horror.
Nov. 2nd, 2010 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saffronhareSo, I'm sitting with Princess Boredom and Fiona Pie at dinner when they ask about my "I Voted!" sticker. After a moment to joke about how much fun my left breast had voting -- I was so excited, see, that my nipple effectively operated the touch-sensitive screen -- I mentioned that PB will be old enough to vote in the next Presidential election.
"Do I have to?" she asked, in all seriousness. I'll give you a moment to absorb that, because I sure needed one.
I suspect the HORROR on my face began to communicate to her what a blasphemous question that was. I caught my breath and blinked a lot, and we started to laugh. I pointed out how very excited she was to reach the legal age for driving; how delighted we figured she'd be when she could order a drink (or purchase really good cough syrup) for herself. Why is the right to vote somehow less significant in her mind?
"I should call your grandfather this very second and tell him what you just said," I threatened. Then, it was her turn to be horrified. Still, I DESPAIR. Egad. I mean, SRSLY.
"Do I have to?" she asked, in all seriousness. I'll give you a moment to absorb that, because I sure needed one.
I suspect the HORROR on my face began to communicate to her what a blasphemous question that was. I caught my breath and blinked a lot, and we started to laugh. I pointed out how very excited she was to reach the legal age for driving; how delighted we figured she'd be when she could order a drink (or purchase really good cough syrup) for herself. Why is the right to vote somehow less significant in her mind?
"I should call your grandfather this very second and tell him what you just said," I threatened. Then, it was her turn to be horrified. Still, I DESPAIR. Egad. I mean, SRSLY.
