I met a rather smashing little fellow today at the surgery called Jamie. He toddled over to show me Jess, his toy black and white cat. However, it was the type of highly original introduction that only a small person could give- he lifted the cat's tail and informed me that it was the "cat's bottom". Anatomically correct! It put me in mind of my own small person when he was 2 not the 16 year old version of today.
On one occasion we were sitting on a bench in our high street taking a breather when a man built like a giant haystack sat down next to us to have a fag. Now we're non smokers so this was new territory to be explored. "What dat man doin' mummy?" was the first rather plaintive request from the pushchair. I tried fobbing him off but he was on to me so he repeated his request only several decibels louder in case I and the rest of the town hadn't heard him. Once again I attempted to distract him but he was having none of it....a few moments of silence ensued before he announced to all and sundry...."look dat man is putting a firework in his mouth"....I can move quite speedily when needs must.
At one point in his junior career the small person was most keen on buses so I promised him we'd use the park and ride in Brighton. We got ourselves settled when a couple of let's just say rather well upholstered ladies followed us on. Watching them he shouted..."look Mummy backside ladies!". They looked a little startled until I explained to them that what he actually meant were they were ladies who were sitting at the back and the side of the bus. He was not making any observation upon the size of their rumps!
The final classic I need to set the scene for. 'Twas the evening before the said event and I was making jam which at started to boil up whilst at the same time I whipped round and managed to send a bowl of defrosted tomatoes flying everywhere. Let's just say I was a little stressed and uttered the F word rather loudly...that wouldn't have been an issue had I not then realised that to my horror the small person was the other side of the stair gate across the kitchen door. However, he showed no reaction so I thought I'd got away with it. Fast forward to the next morning when he was huffing and puffing trying to pull his trousers up over the enormous cloth nappy he wore in those days. "What on earth's the matter?" I asked him rather testily only for him to reply "I can't get my f**ing trousers on". I beat a hasty exit where I guffawed silently until the tears rolled down my cheeks. Thankfully I he didn't repeat it again. Phew!
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