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Eating like an ostrich

Family dinner table conversation (which Littlest slept through, twitching occasionally on the sofa next to the kitchen):

"I'm eating like an ostrich."

"I'm never photogenic in France."

"It's a coincidink." (coincidence!)

"What's a Jezebel? ... "A cross between a Jeremy and an Isobel!"

How to stay young; which of our adult family friends look older than we (the parents) do, and what makes someone seem to be younger, when in fact they are older.  Lots of potential for insults, but none given or taken.

Whether my sister, who is qualified to do ear piercing, will also pierce other regions, and "What is a vajizzle, anyway?" (suspect the questioner knew the answer and just wanted to check if her father had been listening when it was discussed, and his education was broadened, mid-river - the Dordogne - in a canoe, earlier this month). Managed not to correct the pronunciation or the spelling, or fall into the embarassing-of-mother trap of trying to explain. It reminded me of the evening, on holiday in France and out for dinner with much younger children, when son (now the boy-with-the-long-legs) asked in a loud voice, "What is a condom, then?"

The institution of family meals is a good one and should be repeated more; even when Littlest sleeps (which in the circumstances was probably quite a good thing), she is still with us. And laughter is such a good tonic (as was the gin and tonic earlier).

Four-legged-friend, who tried hard to contribute to the dinner conversation by singing mournfully in the room next door - "They have food in there, I know they do. Pleeeeeease let me in. Pleeeeeeeease." - is stretched out on the kitchen floor, nose now cold and wet again and drool all gone.




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