4 hours ago
Sunday, August 30, 2009
We talk our talk, the alternate version from the "I do miss fruit" conversation. It’s like a regular detour, shunted off to a siding, waiting for the freight train to pass.
“Are your teeth still bad?”
“No they’re alright now,” I beam a demonstration of my flashy straight gnashers in confirmation.
“Oh…..so………ow come you don’t eat fruit den?”
“I do, every day, several pieces, certainly far more than the 5 a day.”
“Yes. Do you remember last night when you all had ice-cream and I had raspberries?”
“Oh yes…..so ow come nobody else eats fruit?”
“They do all of them, especially the girls, they’re both fruit bats I swear.”
“Yes…..that’s why I’m always buying it, why the fruit bowl is nearly always empty.”
“Ooo eats it all den?”
“We all do, pounds and pounds, all 8 of us.”
“8? Eight of us?”
“Yes, all eight.”
“Ooo are all deez people den?”
We switch seamlessly into the ‘head count’ conversation where each person is itemized, has their name, age and marital status confirmed before we move onto pets, and whether or not they are spade, the benefits of being spade or neutered, swiftly followed by the conversation pertaining to the sexuality of the tortoise. As we reach the end of this cycle, several times a day, it becomes far easier, although sometimes I feel ever so slightly dazed at just how many of these conversations we can slot together in one sitting.
“Well……..dats alright den.”
“Yes.” We both pause and take a deep breath, dry mouthed. She pats the counter for a few moments, revving up for the next exchange. She blinks at me a few times, something flips over, track back and we’re on the mainline again, “you know………?”
“I tink maybe everything is going to be okay.” I smile in reply as I’m sure she genuinely means it. It’s just a chink, like a little gear change, a switchover.
“I tink maybe you don’t love me any more?”
“Yes……I tink you forget to put on the BBC for me. Ow can I keep up with world events if you cut me off,” she scoffs, nudges my arm and giggles.