I’ve changed the lyrics to the famous song to honor two twins I encountered on the avenue in frilly dresses and Mary Janes, ribbons in their curly blonde hair.
There they were, toddling along, their Nanny manning their empty double-stroller like a patient Palm Beach Chauffeur.
I naturally stopped to tell them how pretty they looked.
“How old are they?” I asked Nanny.
“Just turned 3,” she said, “and they love dressin’ up.”
“See, this is how it starts. Next thing you know they’ll be first in line at a sample sale with a wad’a cash in their itty-bitty pocket books.”
She laughed as I took them in from the front, looking like American Girl Dolls that walked and talked. Amelia and Beata stared up at me like the debutants they’d soon become. Nanny, who was like a columnist for The Post, said, their mother is an attorney and their dad, an investment banker. She lives with them so the girls have become like her own.
Meanwhile, those girls are now pulling up their skirts like strip teasers laughing, showing off their snazzy panties.
“Nanny, maybe you need to curb that because, this is how it starts.”