I ran into my friend Sarah at the park this morning and she told me something that was, at first, hilarious, and increasingly since, disturbing.
'Is Ivy OK?' she asked. 'Because I was talking to this girl- she doesn't know you but she's read your column, and she said to me that Ivy had Multiple Personality Disorder.'
'Yes, totally, ' I laughed, and then while she looked at me confused, I added slowly, 'but, not, you know, pathologically. Just in the way of a three-year-old.'
We both looked down at Ivy, who was practicing hoop-di-doo, her own dance move that involves putting her head on the fround and raising one foot in the air. 'Who are you today, Ivy?' I asked. Without a pause, she answered 'Big Oscar.'
Sarah's friend had read this column, a light piece about life with an imaginative child. It never occured to me that someone could read it another way.
I've been feeling wierd and worried about it since. Is this woman just a fruit bar? Or should I put some sort of caveat at the end of everything I write stating 'These opinions are intended as charming comedy, even if reader finds them nobby and humourless.' ?