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April 24, 2003

The Sixth Sheik's Sheep is

The Sixth Sheik's Sheep is Sick

Drove to Raleigh this evening to see the two-week old daughter of some friends. Ngnat alternated between horribly shy and show-off bossy until she became comfortable, then spent the rest of the time playing balloon tug of war with the new mom or arranging the Wiggles colorforms they had cunningly gifted her with as she walked in the door.

She ran up the driveway to the car as we were leaving then turned around, waving wildly at the new parents on their porch below.

"Say 'Thank you for my present!'" suggested the wife, without much hope in her voice. She's been trying to herd Ngnat into the Corral of Greater Politeness lately, without much luck. Or help, if you ask her.

"TANK OO FOR MY PEASANT!" screamed Ngnat, at the top of her lungs.

I couldn't resist. " Say 'Purple and Yellow Trainspotter!'"

"BUBBA AN YANNA TAINPOTTA!" It was a valiant effort, for a little girl who had never spoken that phrase before in her life, and it broke up the husband, who was knocked sideways by the combined forces of cute and humorous.

I was most pleased.

My father* knows what's coming next, for he was the genesis of Purple and Yellow Trainspotter, unless it came from his father before him. When we were young, my brothers and I, and we wanted something, he would torture us by insisting we repeat ever more difficult sayings, all from the same jumbled pile of phonems that Purple and Yellow Trainspotter sprang from.

"Daddy, can I have some water?" asked the soon to be luckless one

He'd start slow, and build up. "Say ''Please."

"Please."

"Say ''Pretty please."

"Pretty Please." And we would roll down the slippery slope, to "Pretty please with sugar on it", "Sears and Roebuck Catalog", "Purple Hippopotamus" "Red and Yellow Czechoslovakian" and a myriad of others that I have now forgotten.

Thankfully forgotten, I was about to say, before I realized that if I've forgotten them, how will I get Ngnat to say them?


*He drops by occasionally, to read about his granddaughter. The rest of the stuff can go hang as far as he and my mother are concerned.

Posted by Bigwig at April 24, 2003 11:12 PM | TrackBack
Postscript:
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