I took Ruby to the zoo last Friday because she asked me to take her there and because I’m her court jester, her little mignon, her lady-in-waiting, her personal one-woman reality show. Immediately upon flashing her zoo card to the nice gentleman minding the turnstile at the entrance, she pushed her way into the World Famous San Diego Zoo, handed her card to me for safe keeping and then made a running bee-line for Skyfari, the gondola that carries us above all the wildlife from one end of the zoo to the other. We snacked our way through her very predictable route that includes absolutely no animals other than zebras.

Ruby loves zebras, so it was at this exhibit where we lingered. She sat, ate pretzel sticks and pointed out the zebra’s penis to any other spectators who might have been confused as to what it was. Knowledge is power.

We took the Skyfari back again and I persuaded my child to visit with the orangatans and gorillas before it was time to go. This whole non-animal adventure took two hours. “I’n a big girl,” Ruby said to me, dragging her feet as we began our thirty minute walk toward the exit, which was within visual distance.

“Yeah?” I said. “How funny, because I thought you were an elephant.”

“No! I not an elephant!”

“Oh. My mistake. I should have known. You’re a sloth, a very slow and sleepy sloth.”

“No! I not a sloth!”

“Mmmmm. Sorry. Then you must be a peacock, right?”

“NO! MAMA! I not a peacock! I nothing!’

“Well, Ruby,” I said. “Some people would call that an existential crisis.”

At this point, we walked, slllooooowwwwwwlllly in silence until she saw the giraffe-cut out across from the flamingo exhibit. She took off running and asked that I take her picture there.

“Of course, my love,” I said, aiming my camera at her. “You sure do make an adorable giraffe.”

“No, Mama. I’n a dolphin!”