"Daddy, can you make me pancakes? Please?" Huh? Never had this before. At this time of the evening (8-30, dinner was ages ago) she often wants cereal or porridge, which are easy. Pancakes are trickier, because the effing whisk devotes its contemptible existence to hiding from me. Sometimes behind the dogfood, sometimes not.
"Tell you what, I'll make you pancakes after you've finished your homework, walked your dog and practiced your clarinet."
"I've done all that, so will you make pancakes?"
["Since your negotiating position is now so lousy, why should I?"] "Oh, OK then."
God, I'm such a wimp.
15 comments:
Where's Mrs Inkspot then? What are you doing shlepping around in a KITCHEN at that time of night ffs (unless you're opening another bottle)? Why isn't your daughter (and I'm sure she's pretty, bright and adorable) eating a Caramac or a packet of Doritos or going outside for a smoke, like my children? Save pancakes for Shrove Tuesday, and make them eat matzos like everyone else.
Well, er, as a matter of fact [cough], another bottle did happen to be in the process of being opened. Rosemount shiraz, from the Co-op, v. good (I like it fruity, and you can throw in more wine-posing adjectives if you like*), and good value too. (Bugger Oddbins.) Ciggies are the things she disapproves of her mother smoking; she hasn't yet learnt the flaming orange joys of hypocrisy. I think.
*But no adverbs. Remember that.
God, Inky, I know, and I'm supposed to be on the wagon after that hideous display this weekend. Felt like shit for 3 days. At one point, I was washing my hands (Lady Macbeth) and I had the sensation that they didn't actually belong to me. Tonight, I ploughed through a bottle of Soave, and have just forced myself to gargle a Bushmills. God help me.
White wine is cat's pee, unless it's expensive or (sometimes) Alsatian.
You (or Scarlet) were kind enough to suggest joining you this week (was it?) in London. It would be really interesting, but the loss of anonymity would change things too much for me.
We didn't really mean it. Don't want you there cramping our style, Inky. And whose anonymity, anyway? And actually, that is a potentially insulting remark now I come to think of it. Your loss, whatever.
Where is your embarrassing record Mr Inky?
I am Geri Halliwell.
Sx
"You... were kind enough..." How is that an insult? Meeting people whom I know only through blogging would change the relationship, so that reading them in future would be a different experience.
Sorry Inkleman, my bad (as the young people say).
"Meeting people whom I only know through blogging would change the relationship...." Inky, you have no idea.
Are you ignoring the embarrassing record request Mr Inky? Write a list then... we don't have to do the embedding thing. I suppose a youtube clip would kind of mess up your minimalist theme. But a list would be good.
Seriously (sorry, an adverb?), I really do look like this...
Sx
Mrs P, thanks. "Inky, you have no idea." Have you elided "... of what a negative experience that can be"? Or do I misread you?
Scarlet, not ignoring, just procrastinating. Another flaming orange joy. Yes, I do like that phrase. It's stolen, of course; I think from James Baldwin, in a description of passive male homosexuality.
You misread me; but it is a slippery slope. You're probably right to give it a swerve. Have a wonderful Wednesday.
Its perfectly acceptable to be a whimp where offspring (Especially of the opposite sex) are involved Inky ....think of it more like training the adorable little poppit to wrap men round her finger in later life
I'm not flamming orange... how many times...
Sx
Wordv:monetsp !!! See even the word verification is telling you to decorate...
Sx
'flaming' - sorry.
Post a Comment