The rain in Spain…


The conversations that we have with our son these days are such wonderful entertainment value.

“Where are we going?” he asked us while driving in the car.

No answer. It seemed the safest option in light of the fact that where we were going was not going to be well received by him and there would definitely be some loud objections.

“Where are we going?” “Where are we going?” “Where are we going?” “Why is somebody not talking to me?” “Where are we going?”

So he’s not going to go quietly with the silent treatment either. Time for plan B.

“To Spain.”

Silence. For one golden moment.

“No! We’re not going to Spain.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too hard for me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t know what Spain is.”

“Spain is a country far away across the sea that we would need to go on an aeroplane to get to.”

A moment of contemplation and then, “So we can’t go because we have a car.”

There is no pulling one over on him!

Once we did arrive home he went for a daredevil hair raiser of a ride on his new scooter.

Just before he departed we asked him “Where is your helmet?”

He patted the space just above his naked head and said “Here.” We both looked at him and exclaimed in unison, “No it’s not!”

His face registered the extreme surprise of someone who had fully expected to have miraculously discovered a helmet on his head that no one had put there. “Oh!” he added to prove his surprise and then went to find it.

A few moments later he came to find me with a plaster on his knee and a tale of woe on his lips.

“Did you break yourself?” I asked him.

“No, I just got an owie bit on my knee. I was going too fast on my scooter.”

“Are you going to be more careful and ride a bit slower now?”

“No FASTER!” he shouted as he ran from the room to fulfil his word.

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