Despotic Potatoes.

Early morning conversation with Zeph amidst the sandwich making, toast buttering, hair brushing and shouting about number of socks actually on feet.

Z: Why do you keep calling Ida a potato?

L: Do I?

Z: Yes – is it like you say I’m  a turnip? which you do TOO much, I am not a turnip even if I accidentally wash my face with the shampoo instead of the shower gel and make my eyes pink and sore and it hurts my feelings to be called a turnip when it is not my fault you keep shampoo in the shower next to showergel…

L: in a bottle marked shampoo.. why don’t you have your socks on?

Z: Anyway why do you call Ida a potato and not a turnip? Is a potato better than turnip? Or is it because she is a girl? – because that would not be fair.

L: exasperated – Goddamn Zeph – I have never called Ida a potato and WHY do you have your coat on and NO SOCKS?

Ida enters the fray wearing one of my flip flops and Zephs’ bookbag which she has dragged through the cats’ breakfast.

I: mine! mine! gimme toast – up! UP!  UP!

L: Ida you are such a dictator

Z: see! – potato

L:   Ahhhhh…

and she is – a dreadful despotic dictator, and because I have such kind friends she runs them ragged. It’s starting to get embarrassing. Luckily we all have strong-willed children, but still. I’ve taken to saying, “you don’t have to do what she says…” weakly as she shoves people around or insists on being allowed to ride them bareback shouting GO! all around the room.

Todays beautiful thing, Mohitos – even cheap mix ones. Especially in the afternoon. Rum, mint and lime, little can go wrong.

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3 responses to “Despotic Potatoes.

  1. lol, know the feeling!

  2. So funny. Lovely post.

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