She: Eddie Puss is getting old and has smelly breath. It’s time he went to Heaven.
Me: What did you think of the show at Moyo? (Restaurant at uShaka on Durban beachfront).
She: *emphatically* Too much noise. *she spent some of the time with fingers in her ears – we were right up next to the performers*
Me: I quite liked the music. Nice beat.
She: The vuvuzela sounded like an elephant letting off! (I think she got that from her grandmother)
Me: *choosing to ignore that* I wonder if you can still play my vuvuzela-thingy?
She: *in superior tone* You mean the didgeridoo?
Me: That’s right! Clever of you to remember.
She: The man lost his kilt!
Me: *struggling to keep up* I didn’t see that happen.
She: It did! I saw his panties!
Me: *covering my face* Shock, horror!
She: *giggles* Let me tell you again so you can do the shock horror again … and again … and again! Oh, shock, horror! *giggles*
She: Look at my car. I’m going to call it Rumblits (well, that’s what it sounded like). Daniel (a school friend) has one like it and he calls it Furwunk (well, that’s what it sounded like).
Me: *squinting at it* It’s a Mercedes Benz. You should tell Daniel that.
She: *rushing off* Daddy, this is a Mercedes Benz *pronouncing it perfectly*. That’s a big word for a little girl! I’m going to tell Daniel!
She: Let’s play the Siamese Cat Song again. It makes you laugh …
Me: It’s taking ages. A tragedy.
She: Don’t worry, let it load … *adds bitterly* It’s a tragedy you haven’t taken me to the beach yet (since our return) … *sings* We are Siamese if you please, gerdunk-dunk-dunk …
She isn’t all sweetness and light. This morning she made her mother’s birthday by waking up and immediately saying ‘Happy birthday. Mommy,’ and then unmade it again by having a long, crying, hysterical temper tantrum of note because she wasn’t allowed to wear her pyjama top to play-school.
© Colonialist October 2011 (Letterdash/Wordpress Blogs)