My sister appears to be having some difficulty with her Indian visa.
Archives for June 2006
Keeping up with the post-millenial Joneses
The Observer had a cartoon a while back where these guys in a coffee shop are chatting and one says to the other “So, half way through dinner she googled me on her blackberry and found my ex-girlfriend’s blog so that was pretty much thatâ€. His friend replies “do you know that three of those terms didn’t even exist five years ago?â€
So, I was playing with the computer and I saw this post from Fluid Pudding and I said to my loving spouse “guess what Jeff gave Angela?â€. And he said “eh, who, what?†because he is not as up on my computer stalkees as I would like. “A ticket to the blogHer thingy†I said. And he said “eh, who, what?†and I explained that it was this conference that everyone was going to and I would like to go too and he looked at me blankly. “Off you go then, nobody’s stopping youâ€.  There are times when this whole independent woman thing palls. Somehow, I feel that I will not be going to California at the end of July.
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls…
…because marble doesn’t creak like wooden floorboards.   Every time I go past the boys’ room to get to ours, the floor creaks alarmingly and, nine times out of ten it wakes them up. Just like everything else. Alas.
I am woman, hear me roar.
Her: I’m a baby tiger and you’re a mummy tiger
Me: Roar.
Her: I’m a baby cat and you’re a mummy cat
Me: Miaow
Her: I’m a baby dog and you’re a mummy dog
Me: Outraged silence (quite hard to do)
No, really, no.
From yesterday’s Irish Times birth announcements:
“TOMKIN and CLARKE – Sarah, Oisin, Isaac, Cosmo, Dashiell, Chaos and Massimo are delighted to announce the birth of Bamford Ultimo..”
Swings and roundabouts
Her: Look Mummy, it’s a photograph of you!
Me: On the CD cover?
Her: There, there!
Me: That’s Julia Roberts. [Is it necessary to say that I do not in any way whatsoever resemble Julia Roberts?  Also, please don’t despise us for having the CD of songs from “Mona Lisa Smile†].
Â
Me: What do you think of my new top?
Her: It’s not pretty.
Me: Why not?
Her: It’s got no sparkles. And it’s not pink.
Me: Hmm, but still.
Her (relentlessly): And it makes you look fat. [Is it necessary to say that I am sensitive to any criticism that may be made on this point, however ill-informed; please witness previous dialogue for an illustration of my daughter’s powers of observation].