A conversation had yesterday, on purchasing a summer cotton blanket to replace our swelter-fest of a doona:
Mama L: "I bought it in a nice orange colour instead of beige, because I know you don't like beige"
Papadada: "I don't mind the colour, I just don't like the word beige"
Mind you, there are many other words Papadada chooses to dislike...
Eulogy: Not because it suggests a very tragic event, but rather he can't stand the way it sounds.
What am I to do with a man like this?
A friendly warning to Sticky Baby: Don't you go all weird on me, like your father, and decide you don't like the sound of the word 'rusk' or 'bath'. I will not be manipulated into saying 'hard teething biscuit' or 'water cleansing time'! Not now, not ever! Amen.