Naturalized

Things I did not say to the nice people at this morning's very important appointment: 

All right, fine, I'll be part of your country then.

Can I just skip the first line of the oath? I don't really like this abjuring part.

Oh, look, there's a gun in my bag! [on discovering Dash's noisy plastic blaster]

Are you sure I can wear brown boots with grey pants?

Oop, time to get Mabel from school. You go on without me. I'll do it some other day. [Don't worry, B. went and got her and brought her back, whereupon she squirmed and asked about cookies in a very loud whisper for the rest of the time. I hadn't thought it would go on so long.]

Why is it called naturalization anyway? Was I not natural enough before?

Things they did not say to me:

A good American citizen would support the economy by buying a new pair of trousers for this important event instead of wearing ones she's had for nine years.

Wait a minute, you bought those before you had children and they still look good? Nice one.

But grey with brown? Hmmm.*

Your daughter's hair has clearly not been brushed in more than two days. You may not become a citizen of our country.

You have a large zit in the middle of your forehead. Concealer ain't fooling no-one. We prefer our new citizens zitless, thank you.

This photo on your naturalization certificate looks like a mugshot. I hope you weren't planning on showing it to anyone.

Things I did say:

Cookies? Sure I'll have a cookie. Cookies are a good thing about America.

It's great that you gave me two miniature American flags, because both my kids like those.

Thank you.

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 Well, I don't feel any different. And the cookies were delicious. So that's that over with.




*This is because my friend Helen's Mom assures me that brown and grey is an okay thing. And was also the one who pointed out that I should be proud of those trousers.