SCENE: I'm snuggled in my mom's bed, under my dad's blankie, and we're all watching cricket.
Pops: (to my mom) I didn't want to say this at the table, but I didn't really enjoy dinner that much tonight.
Momma: Is it because Eku didn't make it? (Eku being the beloved, talented, amazing, beautiful wonderful youngest child of the family, coincidentally enough also your faithful blogger)
Me: You had hot dogs for dinner? (It's the one meal that I'm invariably coerced into making for the family: hot dogs and fries)
Momma: Yeah
Pops: It was kind of sweet on the inside. It should be spicy.
Me: I'm the hot dog queen! Yes!!
Pops: Garam Kutti. (that's Gujarati for Hot (female) Dog).
Me: Did daddy just call me a bitch?
Pops: Bitch. A heaty bitch.
SCENE: Mom and dad are sitting on the bed. Daddy's just finished eating peanuts.
Momma: You'd brushed your teeth so nicely, and now you're coming near me with your peanut-foul-stenched-breath. Couldn't come near me with minty fresh breath, no, just the smelly stuff.
Pops: Breathes heavily at momma
Momma: Stop that!
Pops: Breathes heavily at momma again
Momma: Utters unrepeatable, probably untranslatable, cusswords at pops.
Disclaimer: Not a one off event. This tends to happen all the damn time.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment