I was pondering the so-called ‘terrible twos’ as my Darling Daughter had tantrum #34 about what colour tights to wear and thought: what has really happened – without me being aware that she had secured a record deal or anything – is that my daughter has turned into a hip-hop artist.
Bear with me.
It’s just that she is all talk and no action – all mouth and no trousers…or (my favourite from the U.S.) all hat and no cattle. She talks a good game, but when it comes down to actually doing the stuff she promises to do. Well, it’s all hype, innit? It’s just posturing.
For example, mealtimes with Darling Daughter are (90% of the time) a total, bloody nightmare. I have to cajole, persuade, bribe, threaten, trick and sneak food into her mouth or she will waste away and social services (or the Swiss equivalent – whatever the hell that is) will be round our appartment faster than you can say ‘Annabel Karmel‘s kids eat this, why don’t you?’
Mrshev: Okay, lunch is ready!
Darling Son: Great, meatballs and noodles [licks lips in an exaggerated and slightly disconcerting way] my favourite!
Darling Daughter: Yeay! [looks at fork suspiciously] I want a pink fork.
MrShev: Okay. [thinks: is is really – really, really – going to make that much difference to the taste if the fork is pink? You don’t watch Gordon Ramsey saying: ‘well, this fucking calf’s liver, drizzled in truffle fucking oil and sherry bloody reduction is not fucking working for me. Ah yes, a pink fucking plate, that’ll make all the bloody difference…’ FFS]
DD: I am going to eat it all up! [licks lips in an exaggerated and slightly disconcerting way] I am going to get the biggest fork of noodles and I am going to eat it right up!
MrShev: Go on then, eat up.
DD: [touched nothing on her plate. Now starts waving fork around for emphasis] I am going to eat everything on my plate and it’s all going to go in my big, fat tummy!
MrShev: Alright then, start eating then…
DD: Yum. I am going to eat every…little…bit – I am going to eat all of it…
MrShev: Okay, then. Get cracking, we haven’t got all day…
DD: …then I am going to eat all the sausages, all the tomatoes and all the apples…
MrShev: Well, let’s just start with the meatballs, eh? Do you want me to help you?
DD: No, I can do it! Then – then! – I am going to eat all the strawberrys and a big bowl of pasta and a potato…
MrShev: Here, have a mouthful of spaghetti…
DD: I am going to suck up that spaghetti – so fast – so fast, like this [gets out of chair and runs around the table singing: ‘yeahhh!’] and it will go straight into my tummy.
MrShev: Here you go then, open wide [she opens it, but then snaps it shut again as she thinks of something else to prophesise about]
DD: Then [she starts wagging her finger – oh, oh…she’s going into full-on rant mode…] I going to eat every meatball. I am going to eat four…no…six…no…ten and forty, one hundred meatballs all in my big, fat tummy. Oh yes…hmmm…in my…big…FAT…TUMMY!
MrShev: That’s great, but let’s put some action behind the words, shall we?
So, she has just turned into P-Diddy. Hopefully it will only be temporary.