Charity begins at home
Jet, like most people, loves finding money. Normally ‘finding’ money implies a certain serendipity. You don’t know who the money belongs to – it is anonymous cash, perhaps dropped in the gutter by an unknown stranger. In which case, with no hope of reuniting it with its rightful owner, go for your life! Pocket that change without a pang of guilt! It’s what anyone would do.
When the money you have ‘found’ was on the bedside table or in the pocket of one of your parents, I’m not sure swiping it is entirely socially acceptable. In fact, I’m not sure that ‘found’ is the correct verb in this instance. Especially when accompanied by maniacal laughter and a gleeful run to pop said coins into one’s own money box.
Such is Jet’s approach to putting something by for a rainy day. Still, he is quite generous with his ill-gotten gains, if a little unrealistic as to their value. The other day we were discussing whether or not we will ever be able to afford to move to a bigger house.
Jet: “You can have some of my money – I will get some more p’s.”
Easy come, easy go, son. If he could start ‘finding’ large rolls of non-consecutively numbered bank notes it would help, but a handful of shrapnel one of us has naively put down isn’t going to buy us an extra bedroom. Especially as that money is actually ALREADY OURS, YOU THIEVING TOERAG!
Hot off the heels of the success of ‘Platamus‘, Jet is keen to unveil his latest lexicographical creation. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you ‘Slinket‘ (n). These days he sprinkles his conversation with Slinkets, sometimes as an exclamation, others more of an insult. Derivation unknown, this little linguistic gem is now available to enrich and spice up your vocabulary. If you work out any ways in which it is particularly useful, please let me know.
Answers on a postcard…
Ever the philosopher, Jet recently came out with this profound contemplation. “If cows eat grass, why is milk not green?”
Hopes and plans for the future
It’s dinnertime. As usual, in a rush to leave for work, Chris practically hoovered up his food and has sneaked off to the kitchen to stealth-eat one of his special yoghurts without incurring the jealous wrath of the children. Seemingly from nowhere, Jet asks endearingly, “When will I be a daddy?”
I explain to Jet that he can be a daddy when he’s bigger, and Chris and I exchange a misty eyed look – what a sweet child!
Chris: “And what will you do when you’re a daddy, Jet?”
Jet: “Eat one of those yoghurts.”