The Golden Girl(s)
In the last few days, Junior Misssy has been talking a lot about being a grown up. She’s obsessed with what she’ll do when she’s a mummy, what make-up she’ll wear when she’s a mummy, what shoes she’ll wear when she’s a mummy and how many babies she’ll have.
She starts every such conversation with,
“Mummy, when I’m a mummy….”
Conversations starting this way are usually primo gold-dust. You know you’re in for a treat.
Today’s went like this:
Junior Misssy: Mummy, when I’m a mummy, what will you do?Misssy M: ( I’ll be getting new furniture to replace all the stuff you’ve trashed) Well, I’ll probably be a gran.
Junior Misssy: Will I live with you?
Misssy M: (Jesus, I hope not) No, you’ll have your own house.
Junior Misssy: Mummy, but I’ll miss you!
Misssy M: But you’ll still see me. You can give me a phone and I’ll come straight round.
Junior Misssy (actually a little bit distraught) : But I don’t have your phone number!
Later on I tell Meeester about our little chat and he tells me that she’s been talking this way for weeks. He’s been having to tell her that we’ll all be living in one big Walton’s style house, because she doesn’t like the idea that we won’t be living with her. Bless her. That little memory will be keeping me warm at night in twelve years time when she’s threatening to leave home and live with a wholly unsuitable chap.
Better than that though, I am now rigging up a tape recorder for the next “Mummy, when I’m a Mummy…” session. I’m going to tape her saying that she wants me to live with her when I’m a gran, and then I’m going to lodge the recording with my lawyer.
No old folks homes for me!
He!He!
