To Be A Rockstar

The other day I drove a few junior high/high school age girls to a youth dance in the limo. My friend Melissa, that helps me with the babies, came over with a bunch of buddies looking like shiny Spifferellas (you know Spiff White, Spiffing Beauty, etc) and smelling cute as can be. I put on my limo hat, turned on all the exterior lighting and we got going. This is what the limo was made for! These girls were blasting the stereo system, lights blazing, blue colored mood lighting, and privacy screen up (thank you). They were having the time of their lives and so was I. I couldn't help but smile all the way there.

They were trying to figure out how to make the biggest splash on the dance scene when someone said they felt like a rockstar. They started naming famous people they would like to be and ended up reminiscing  about how they used to love Hannah Montana and how silly was that?

I think I am a rockstar, maybe I am delusional though. Whenever I walk in or out of a room there are five people who, well six if you count N8, who's total happiness and emotional fulfillment in life depends on me. Yes, I am a rockstar in my own home to five, no six, adoring fans. Maybe that is why I drive a limo.