The other day Lola and Iris were playing bar, and they got into a spat over who would be the bartender. Oh my little darlings, how they make my heart glow. Yesterday I invaded Iris's privacy while she was surfing Youtube (a lame attempt at parental surveillance), and I caught her playing an Amy Winehouse video. Aaaaww, I do love her.
Right now they're learning how to play blackjack. Seven year-old Iris says, "One of my ambitions is to be a blackjack dealer."
I never dealt blackjack professionally, but I did enjoy playing it on my few forays to Nevada. Once I was thrown out of a casino for breastfeeding infant Iris (funnily enough the security had no problem with a tiny infant being in their casino until I put her on the breast discreetly. Her father walked all about holding her with no problem. Then suddenly the laws against underaged children in casinos had to be immediately enforced once that evil, evil breast went into use. Pissed off, I pulled a stool up into the foyer right in front of the glass doors to the casino and breastfed there where every single person would have to walk by us on their way in. Lactivism or pigheadedness? Your call).
bartenders and blackjack dealers make good money. it could have been worse, they could have chosen to be software engineers. (oh wait, did i say that?)
Sounds like software engineer is too much of a gamble.
I think the software development equivalent of the bartender game would be one child playing programmer and the other playing the quality assurance technician. The adversarial qualities of the relationship are baked right in.
i'm surprised they haven't asked for fake tattoos yet.
Does the one who gets to be the bartender dole out advice to her patrons?
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