Monday, June 25, 2012

The Kosher Turd

I didn't get around to chucking this up yesterday afternoon due to the inevitable wasted 90 minutes watching England fail at football, so here's the light, fluffy, spattered detritus that I collected at the end of the week.

- We were stood in the grocery store yesterday with my daughter looking at shampoo. My son had been chuffing his way around the store and had been carted off to the bathroom to dispel his, "brown clouds," as his sister sometime calls them. My daughter and I then spent some time sniffing different scents of shampoo. It seemed to be the theme of the afternoon out as we'd just spent five minutes in a candle store sniffing out the one we wanted as well. I start pulling off the different scents and asking my daughter what she thinks it will smell like. She uses a coconut one so guess the white was also coconut. Bingo. Then we tried the green one. She guessed it was green bean scented. Which is the same color at least but I have no idea what smell that would be. The actual smell was cucumber - which is a smell I don't think I've ever walked in on and said, "....is someone eating cucumber?" After trying out a few others I picked up the pink one and asked her what she thought it would smell like. To which she responded, "....is it pork?" I didn't have the heart to tell her that technically it might be made with pork fat. Unless it's Leviticus-friendly soap. Some people care about that quite a bit. Speaking of which - here's the oddly tautological sign outside the other store we go to -:


- This morning whilst putting a jigsaw puzzle together of the United States my daughter made two declarations. The first being that her teacher told her potatoes are grown in Idaho - but that's wrong because grow potatoes in our garden. The second declaration - following similar logic - is that all the pencils in America are made in Pennsylvania.

- My son adores the brocolli we grow. It is very good - but he's almost fervent about eating it. Especially if it has anything on it - like a soy sauce or similar Asian-style sauce. I recognize something about the way he eats it but could never put my finger on what it was. That was until last night when I realized the strange stuttering-sucking sound he makes is exactly the same as when Hannibal Lecter talks about eating someone's liver with Fava beans and Chianti in Silence Of The Lambs. The point of that in the movie - for anyone who eats Fava beans - is that it takes bloody ages to peel them, so the evil of it all was more labored, deliberate and intentional - and not some red-mist lunacy. Which I take comfort from as far as my son's shared Hannibalism - because as soon as he notices some of the sauce is dribbling down his wrist he can't eat anymore until someone rescues him.

- During the same meal my daughter asked the perfectly sensible question, "Mommy, do I have any nut parts?" I'm ashamed to say that the set-up was too easy and I replied on my wife's behalf, "no honey, you're a girl" before having to ask my daughter to please ignore me being silly, and that yes she does.

- My daughter needed new socks, so along with a big pack of practical ones we got her some absurd ones. They have pictures of nonsensical things on them. Her favorite ones have french fries on them. They look like this -:


But what's great about them is that they follow the same logic as new sneakers do to little kids. That being when you got a new pair you genuinely believed that you can now run faster and jump higher. Except in this instant she believes they make her more mentally unstable. So much so that it makes her fall over.


- My daughter is supposed to start a new outdoor swimming program in an hour. Presently it is 67 degrees and looks like it will rain any second. Which means that for the next 45 minutes I have to work hard on pointing out two issues.

1 - Please understand that there may not be any swimming due to the weather. No need to get upset about something that hasn't even happened yet.
2 - Please concentrate on having a poo before we leave. You are nearly five years old and entering your formative years in a small community where every knows one another, news travels fast and people are never forgiven their transgressions. Earning the name Shit-Pants and causing the local swimming pool to be evacuated the day it opens at this early stage of your life would cause deep, life-altering psychological issues that can't be solved via the usual methods. It would also lead to unemotional, bland comments by people asking others, "is that Shit Pants' dad?" when they see me at a local event, but can't quite place a name to my face.

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