|Kiwi: not a wee wee.|
The dinner table, nothing but sophisticated conversation here.
The B requests something from the fruit bowl, his choice a kiwi, de-skinned, chopped into chunks and served in a bowl.
"Delicious," he declares and begins tucking in.
The G looks on, suspicious, sceptical.
"Don't like it," she says.
Once again, pause for thought.
"What is it?"
So it begins once again, Friday's Great Fruit Debate reignited.
I tell her The B is eating kiwi.
She considers this for a moment.
"Wee wee?" she asks.
From this point, I lose all grip on proceedings.
The B (in hysterics): "Not wee wee, kiwi!"
The G (chortling): "Wee wee?"
The B (beside himself): "Not wee wee, kiwi!"
Short pause for breath.
The G (feigning seriousness): "Wee wee?"
So it continues, back and forth for several moments. I attempt to interject, but cannot be heard over an ever-more raucous wee wee/kiwi conversation.
Seeing no alternative, I let it run its course and it does, in time.
Order restored, kiwi consumed, I suggest a story, The G's choice, Hello Little Ducklings.
It's going quite well until we reach page six, the line "Splishy splashy in a line, Plip plop it's swimming time."
The G thinks for a moment.
"Plip plop," she says, pausing for dramatic effect. "Just like a poo poo."
So it begins again.
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