My granddaughter, Brooklynn, or as I like to call her, the Divine Miss B, lives seven-and-a-half hours away, and I don’t get to see her nearly as often as either of us would like. I’d like to see her more often because she’s about the cutest granddaughter ever, and she would like to see me more often because I spoil her bloody rotten.
Last week, on Elvis’ birthday, my daughter and son-in-law took the Divine Miss B out for breakfast. The restaurant had an Elvis impersonator performing – or, at least he said he was an impersonator. Elvis would have been 82 on Jan. 8, and there’s no way to absolutely prove it wasn’t him performing in a restaurant in Ludington, Michigan, that morning.
Anyway . . .
He comes over to their table and the 18-month-old Divine Miss B points at him and says, “Pap!”
Bless her little heart. She thinks her Pap is Elvis.
I’m not sure I can explain how big this is for me, because we are mega Elvis fans here at Fliposaurus.com.
My daughter says it was the dark hair and sunglasses that threw her off, and I need to visit more often so the Divine Miss B doesn’t confuse me with Elvis.
But, why wouldn’t I want her to think I was Elvis, particularly since this impersonator was doing the young, hip, in-shape Elvis? Come on!
First, my grandfather coolness factor just increased exponentially. I mean, come on, my granddaughter thinks I’m Elvis.
Secondly, she can now have absolutely ANYTHING she wants from Pap. She could have had it before, but I’m now willing to include big-ticket items like ponies, go-karts and tree forts.
The next time I show up at their house, I’m arriving in a sequined jumpsuit and a glittery cape