An aunt's anguish

A couple of times a year, I snag my nieces, Alexis and Alea in order to blatantly buy their love. When they were younger, these little adventures required very little effort on my part. "Aunt Amy, can we go into that cornfield across from your house?" "Why, sure girls," I magnanimously consented. "Aunt Amy, can we go to Pizza Hut?" Despite the enormity of this unreasonable request, I eventually relented. "Aunt Amy, can we leap into that leech-filled swimming hole?" "I don't know, girls," I mused thoughtfully, "I think we should avoid unnecessarily contaminating the natural world with our deadly human bacteria."  However, their disappointment was so great that I decided to sacrifice the planet on their behalf.

Teen-agers require a bit more creativity. My coolness ratio has decreased somewhat since I discovered elastic waist jeans so I have to off-set my dufishness by getting Sydney or Savannah to join us. I planned the ultimate teen-girl outing several months ago with an itinerary that included a mall stop at "Charming Charlies" where I begged my nieces to let me buy them jewelry, a visit to a candy kiosk where we bought ten pounds of sugar-laden snacks, had lunch at our favorite burger joint, Five Guys, and the pièce de résistance, a zombie movie. 

Our recent plans came together rather naturally after I learned they'd never been to my favorite summer hang-out, Charcoal Corral. The first step to having a truly successful drive-in experience is the pre-drive-in-snack selection at the Perry Dollar General. With Raisinettes, Junior Mints, Pringles and Pepsis in hand, we were ready to face over four hours of outdoor cinematic pleasure. Thinking of my truck floor coated with french fries, I giggled when the girls explained that, in their family, eating in the vehicles is not permitted. I stopped giggling when they spilled our seven dollar jumbo tub of popcorn with extra extra butter...twice. We endured great hardship when the announcement  came over the speakers that the public restrooms, always a treat on the most normal of occasions, were temporarily out of order. Those five minutes were among the most traumatic of my life. For the next few hours, I wrestled with my tiny Tinker Bell blanket, having to make the agonizing decision of whether to cover my goose-bump encrusted arms or my frozen feet. I watched as Armie Hammer shot a gun with an infinite number of bullets while Johnny Depp performed a death-defying cirque de soleil act on a ladder between two speeding trains. For the second show, I cheered during a limousine car chase taking place on the White House lawn with Channing Tatum, whose shirt was constantly in tatters. Always a gentleman, he politely asked Jamie Foxx to not hit him in the head with the rocket launcher. Shortly after 2 am, we were at last on our way back home.

 To complete this magical experience, I pretended to be a person who makes pancakes every morning. We then cleaned out the van which consisted of laboriously opening up the sliding door to let the Rottweiler in to snarf up seven dollars worth of popcorn with extra extra butter. We drove the girls home quickly before they could come to their senses and realize that I am a complete fraud as aunts go. I know my time is limited.  I am grateful for every second that I get to spend with them. But what on earth will I do with them next?