Flea and I like games.
One of our favourites is the “I can only hear you if you’re singing” game, where you have to sing everything you say, loudly and out of tune (that last bit isn’t a rule, just a lack of talent).
So tonight we were on our way home in the car, and I was singing a song to Flea with a (frankly) genius chorus that went something like:
Your Mummy is the best Mummy in the whole wide world
She is smarter than the rest
You are such a lucky girl
Because I am the best…
Flea was sitting next to me with her toy monkey, George, sitting on her lap. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George whisper something to Flea.
Flea adopted her best confused face. “Mummy…” she said.
“Yes?”
“George just said something I didn’t really understand.”
“What was that?”
“He said he thinks you’re not telling the truth.”
Oh, the hilarity.
Well, there’s only one way to respond to that sort of conduct.
We drove the five miles home with George hanging out of the car window, billowing in the breeze.
“It’ll teach him a lesson,” I sang to Flea, in sad tones.
On the way home, we stopped at the supermarket nearest to our house and I asked Flea if George had learned his lesson.
“I don’t think so,” she sang, loudly. “He is a VERY cheeky monkey. What shall we do?”
“I shall spank him when we get home. It’s the only way,” I sang back.
And that, Your Honour, is why my child was dancing round the supermarket this afternoon, patting her own rear end, and singing, “SPANK THE MONKEY, SPANK THE MONKEY, SPANK THE MONKEEEEEEEEEEY” at the top of her voice.
Possibly, I didn't think things through.
