The John Dory Longing

“We has to get pretty for John Dory.” —Branch, age 3, dangerously in love

Some girls wait a lifetime for a man like John Dory. Branch waited six hours and lost her damn mind.

It was Mother’s Day. Nothing fancy—just a little family dinner. The air smelled like appetizers and passive-aggressive compliments. But Branch? She was laser-focused. Tunnel vision. Tunnel obsession. She needed John Dory. Not wanted—needed.

Every thirty minutes like clockwork:

“Is John Dory coming?”

Yes, Branch. He’s coming. After dinner.

Then came the glam. Full beat. Hair curled. Fanciest plastic jewels chosen like she was walking the carpet at the Trolls Met Gala. The final touch?

“We has to get pretty for John Dory.”

And I’m telling you right now—this girl meant it.

But then the timeline shifted. One family showed up an hour early. John Dory got held up and ran an hour late. That’s two full hours of Branch asking—every 3 to 5 minutes, without fail—“IS JOHN DORY COMING?” We could’ve set a damn metronome to it. I started hearing it in my soul.

When he finally pulled up (last, of course, thanks to work and traffic), she launched into the arms of her muse, shrieking with joy. She looked like someone who just found water in the desert. Except instead of hydration, it was a 30-something man with jokes in his pocket and a calm aura.

She worshipped the ground he walked on. And who can blame her?

Now for the backstory: Branch? That’s my niece—Sis, for the uninitiated. John Dory? That’s my husband, Uncle. But for weeks now, we’ve been living in the Trolls Cinematic Universe. I’m Poppy, obviously, because pink hair means automatic royalty, and life’s too short to fight a three-year-old on casting choices.

Later, while we’re outside playing, she screams. I panic. Did a wasp fly in her eye? Is there blood? Nope. She thought John Dory left without saying goodbye. She’s clutching her hair like she’s three seconds from starring in a Lifetime movie. Turns out he was in the bathroom. But to her, that was emotional abandonment.

Eventually, it’s time to leave. She hugs me, smacks me right in the face, then kisses it better—like an unhinged mafia boss with a heart of gold. Then she looks me dead in the eyes and says,

“Now I gotta kiss John Dory. I will miss him.”

I mean, same.

Cut to John Dory (my husband, remember) buying her a little John Dory throw blanket off Etsy. She makes us lay it out flat—no wrinkles—and drape it over her toddler bed railings so she can gaze at his face while she drifts to sleep. At nap time, she lays it on the floor and sprawls out on top of it like she’s a starfish in love. Then I have to hold the Branch doll, she holds the Poppy doll, and she says we’re “snuggling each other.” This girl’s comedic gold.

John Dory was the highlight of her entire day—hell, two days. It started the day before when she saw the guest list. I don’t blame her. Watching him love these kids so easily makes my heart smile too.