Every time I think of Lily’s friend Rose, this old song from Annie Get Your Gun comes to mind:
I can do anything better than you can.
I can do anything better than you.
No, you can’t.
Yes, I can.
No, you can’t.
Yes, I can. Yes, I can. Yes, I can!
All of us know someone who can’t help him/herself. Whatever you, or anyone else, say, they must one-up you. However, I have never seen a worse case of one-up-man-ship than I have in one of Lily’s friends. (We’ll call her Rose.)
You see, Rose must be the best, have the most, done something just a bit more extreme than Lily. If Lily said she’s skydived, Rose would claim she did it without a parachute, or had done it 100 times and was an expert with a certificate of excellence given to her by the president.
You think I’m kidding. I’m not. She's a bit like that woman in the SNL skit.
She’s really like this, and she says it with such conviction that my gullible daughter buys every single word. It doesn’t seem to bother Lily, and many of the things Rose comes up with are so hilarious I have to stifle laughter. Sometimes, I can’t even do that because they are so ludicrous and unbelievable, and outrageous, I snort with laughter.
For instance, Rose, the oldest child of two, supposedly has five older sisters and one brother. (She only has one younger brother.) She never sees any of these older “siblings.” And whatever day it happens to be, one of them is having a birthday party that she can’t attend… ever. (g)
One of her sisters is thirteen and has to live at Disneyland for the next five years. She cannot leave the park the entire five years. I don’t remember how that sister came to be, but I am sure Lily and Rose were discussing something—perhaps Lily talked of our recent trip out of town, and Rose had to make up something “better.”
When we returned from my mother’s, Lily couldn’t wait to share the loom Grandma had given her for her birthday with Rose. She wanted to teach her how to weave a hot pad. Apparently, Rose already knew how and didn’t need Lily to teach her. Not only can she weave a hot pad, but she can weave a whole shirt, pants, and socks.
I wasn’t aware that you could weave an entire shirt on that tiny loom, or any loom truth be told. Matter of fact, the only things I knew people could weave on looms were either blankets, perhaps a scarf/square shawl, or material for making clothing. All of the demonstrations I’ve ever seen never showed what Rose claimed. Please correct me if I am wrong. I don’t use a loom, so I am a bit ignorant about what can and can’t be made on them. I would imagine that if you can do clothes, you must be a champion weaver. Something I don't imagine a six-year-old would master yet.
My favorite, so far, of Rose’s one-up-man-ship involves Medusa.
The other day, Lily’s book on Greek myths was on the dining room table. While they ate lunch, Lily was telling Rose all about the Greek myths. (Her favorite is Heracles, as opposed to Roman Hercules. They are one and the same person, just different names.) The girls looked through the book, Lily commenting on the different pictures and giving Rose a short review of the stories.
Rose didn’t like that Lily knew something she didn’t, even though it’s bound to happen. Lily is older, in a higher grade, and exposed to different things than Rose. Rose knows things Lily doesn’t and vice versa.
Well, Rose saw the picture of Medusa. Apparently, her aunt has a tattoo of Medusa on her arm. They started discussing Medusa. Rose didn’t believe that one look from Medusa turned people to stone. I chimed in and said that, yes, Medusa’s gaze turned people to stone, but this was centuries past before she was killed by Perseus. They didn’t need to worry about Medusa anymore. (That last part was added as Rose seemed really scared Medusa would come to get her.)
Rose asked, “Where did Medusa live?”
“Greece,” I said. (This book was on the Greek myths after all.)
Without missing a beat, Rose said, “Well, I have a brother. He’s thirty-three and lives in Greece. He looked in Medusa's eyes and didn’t turn to stone.”
Oh. My. God.
Really? He looked in Medusa's eyes?
All righty then.
This is a very small example of the stories Rose creates in order to one-up my daughter. They never fail to make me laugh. Perhaps it’s because she’s not quite seven yet, and Lily doesn’t seem to care. Perhaps it’s because they are completely unbelievable yet Lily falls for them every time. (g) Whatever it is, it makes me, and Charlie, laugh and laugh and laugh.
I hope they made you laugh, too. (g)