An American doll

I heave 41 lbs of inert puppy into my arms, baby style.
“Wot you got dere den?”
“The puppy……..Thatcher.”
“Wot you do?”
“I’m taking him out to the pen for a piddle.”
“Eh?”
“Potty time!”
“Why you are carry im?”
“Because he won’t go on his own.”
“Of course he won’t go on iz own………ee is asleep!”
“I already know that!” I hover by the locked door with my load, as Nonna bars my exit.
I nod towards the door handle, slightly breathless as I’m out of practice at carrying half a Shetland pony.
“Wot you want den?”
“I wondered if you might be able to open the door for me, please?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No………..put im down.”
“Why?”
“Coz I’m going to elp you.” I plop a liquefied puppy carcass back onto the floor.
“What do you suggest?”
“We will wake im up first.”
“I’ve already tried that, he’s dead to the world.”
“Well we’ll ave to work someting out den coz soon ee will be too eavy to carry.”
“I don’t know what to do with him, even after having read the book.”
“I read dat "book" too you know. Dere waz nothin in it about carrying.”
“Hmm maybe we should check the index.”
“Wot you suggest we look it up under………..?”
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
“So Maddy………..?”
“Yes?”
“Does ee do it yet?”
“Do what yet?”
“You know…….shake ands…….shake paws den?”
“No, the children are still working on that one.”
“You know…….I don’t tink dey should teach im dat?”
“Really? Why?”
She does her side step swing shuffle dance of the squirmingly uncomfortable, that exactly mimics her inner mental turmoil, otherwise know as cognitive dissonance.
“Because it’s so……such an……English gesture. Don’t you tink?”

Two minds as one.

An American doll

http://sandwichedgenes.blogspot.com/2009/01/american-doll.html