Again with the Chincoteague, because all I did today was translate a patent and do laundry, neither of which bear writing about.
I don't have kids, but I eavesdrop on people who do. It's a vicarious thing, which is about as much as I can deal with.
At an all you can eat seafood place, a family of four (two parents, two teenaged boys) come in and sit down. A waiter turns up.
Dad: You remember when we were here last July?
Waiter: Uh, sure? (I mean, really, be reasonable. Could he?)
Dad: We sat over there and we got eighty crabs.
Waiter: Oh, yeah. I remember that.
Dad, pointing at one of the kids: Well, this one wasn't here then, so tonight we're going for a higher number.
Waiter: Okay, I'll tell them in the kitchen.
And we stayed at a different hotel this time. This one had not such a good view, but a pony glimpse from the balcony. Across the street was a pen of ponies for sale. On Sunday morning, we were sitting out on the balcony when we heard a loud howling. We both assumed it was a dog in some great distress, but then the howl resolved into words:
"Iiiiii waaaaant thaaat poooonyyyy!"
So that's my new mantra whenever I'm in a whinin' and moanin' kind of mood. Oz's response is "You can't have that pony."
235 words | October 6, 2005 06:36 PM | Wish you were here