Saturday, March 7, 2009

the language of mogantosh

I've worked out why, by the time the kids are teenagers, parents don't have any friends left. It's because by then you are speaking the language of your tribe, and you make no sense to the world at large.

A sample morning conversation from this house:

Rach- Well, that was a three-dog night. The little buttons did my head in.
Keith - Was he squiggly?
Rach- One time he was sphinxing with his head trapped in the eepy.
Keith - Bloody hell.
Rach- I heard the big buttons.
Keith - Oh yeah. Not too bad though, until she wanted hoop-de-doo.
Rach- Oh, so hard on the neck. Rockabye Sportacus?
Keith - Once, and then Rockabye Jeff. But she threw the doo-dah and couldn't find Little Ivy, and then wanted more and more tuggles. I had to promise her boys and ovvies for breakfast before I got a bobo.
Rach - Bloody hell. Fishhook?
Keith - Can't. I'm strapped.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.