A shiny brand new newborn baby should be calling 68-year-old Robert De Niro “PEPAW!!!” instead of “Daddy?” but the latter is what’s going down in the De Niro house this holiday weekend. Because Robert’s old ass and his wife Grace Hightower are parents to a baby girl born via a leased baby oven. The baby girl has a 13-year-old brother named Elliot and a bunch of half-siblings including 40-year-old Drena, 35-year-old Raphael and 16-year-olds Julian and Aaron.
Now, when my ass is 68, I want to be drunk on my porch and throwing rotten lemons at the shit-nosed brats driving their stupid ugly bikes on my lawn. I want to be a mean old cunt who’s not afraid to show it. I don’t want to be pulling my damn hip muscle while rocking my wailing baby to sleep at 3 in the morning. That shit ain’t the life. But if that’s how Robert wants to spend the Werther’s Originals phase of his life, who am I to judge (I’m totally judging)?
But the best part is what Robert and Grace named their baby friend. Their rep tells People that her name is Helen Grace De Niro. Not only does Helen Grace De Niro sound like the name of a Catholic school head mistress who secretly moonlights as a lounge singer, but Helen Grace is also the name of the chocolate company that makes the most delicious fudge Easter eggs your stomach has ever digested.
These chocolate Easter eggs were serious business in my elementary school. Every year, we fought to death to sell as many as possible. It was like the middle-class suburban version of The Hunger Games. We killed each other for that shit, because the prizes were legendary. One year, I came in 5th place thanks to my mother forcing everyone at work to buy at least 3 and the prize was nothing like I have ever known before. The five of us (yes, I was last place, of course) all got into a limo and it took us on a journey of culinary pleasures. We stopped at Carl’s Jr. for appetizers (fries), then pulled into the gourmet garden of desires that is McDonald’s for entrees (Big Mac) and cleansed our palate at the Michelin-starred Baskin-Robbins. It will go down as the most luxurious experience of my life. For such a glamorous occasion, I wore my finest outfit which was a white turtleneck, a black chunky cardigan from Mervyn’s and pleated black pants. I was dressed like an Eastern European lesbian tennis star going to a hearing to face charges of steroid abuse.
I even got to take a picture in front of the hot limo while wearing the hottest outfit I’ve ever owned. If my ass ever goes missing and the police ask you for a picture, please give them the one of my 10-year-old self awkwardly standing in front of that limousine. I look nothing like that anymore, but I only want people to see me in my most glamorous moment.
And I’m sure Robert’s Helen Grace is as precious the Helen Grace Easter eggs I sold in order to live like Alexis Carrington for an afternoon.