6 Dreams for My Daughter (The One I’ve Yet To Purchase*)

I’ve never particularly planned out my children’s future; I always assumed I’d wait until they were born to do that. But lately people, partially inspired by Tina Fey’s dreams for her daughter (as told in her recent book), have been sharing their hopes and fears concerning their female progeny and I just hate to be left out.

So here, in no particular order, are the 6 dreams I have for my future daughter.

I hope Fezzica tries to overturn a small government.

(Maybe in Africa, maybe in South America, I’m not picky.)

Then, when things go wrong (as they’re wont to do), I hope she escapes in a helicopter and lives in peaceful exile in France or London.

‘Cause I want her to dream big.

And survive.

I hope Tammy writes a book about shoes. It’ll discuss loafers and sneakers and high heels and sandals and wedges. But not clogs.

‘Cause I’ll have taught her better.

Then when Khamenei reads that book I hope he issues a fatwa concerning her.

Not for her death, but rather that she be required to work in a Foot Locker for a year. And after religious extremists find her and force her into indentured shoe store servitude she’ll be able to tell each customer that she has a fatwa issued against her and they’ll all be like, “for your death?” and she’ll be all “um, no, so I have to work here.” And then she’ll get her comeuppance for all that shoe arrogance while also being able to educate the world on fatwas.

I hope Rararara travels around Europe learning the secret to becoming a master watchmaker. She’ll devote herself to her lessons and soldier through apprenticeships and joining a guild and getting one of those rocking in-eye magnifying loupes.

And she will be the best watchmaker in all the world.

Or, depending on her personal interests, she could become the best pickpocket in all the world.

I only really require that she do an apprenticeship.

I hope Slushy marries the man who played Barney.

(The large purple dinosaur, not the non-monogamous sitcom character.)

Then, at their wedding, I’d finally become friends with Baby Bop.

I hope Bonica becomes a great scientist. She’ll own beakers and microscopes and always wear a crisp blue lab coat. She’ll conduct scientifically valid experiments on soda pop and finally the world will have the answer to that age old question – is Coke or Pepsi better?

This will, naturally, lead to her getting her own stamp.

This stamp will, when licked, taste like sugar-y carbonation.

I hope Ann makes a terrible, awful, dreadful mistake. It could be murdering the Prime Minister of Malaysia, it could be eating from that Chinese place down the block, it could be forgetting to invite the Queen Mother to her wedding – whatever the blunder, I hope it inspires her to write a book.

And then sit on Oprah’s couch.

Oprah’s presence next to her will be an additional boon.

I’m going to be a fantastic mom,