This morning I made breakfast – veggie sausages and hash browns. Monkey, Nuzzle and Scratch all decided to join in and shovelled my breakfast down their traps quicker than I could find a knife and fork and say “do you mind?”
But thats not the issue.
I had a little bit of sausage left on my plate that Monkey was eyeing up – I nodded to her and said “go on – since you’re my best friend.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “but you’re not my friend.”
This was news to me – my world is pretty much shattered already. I didn’t know what to say. I had to pull myself together. “Why?” I asked – not overly sure I was going to like what was coming.
“Because you’re old.” She replied, in a tone that was matter of fact and not up for messing about.
“Wait… so that means… no. What about Mummy?”
“Mummy isn’t old. Mummy is my friend.” The reply came from a mouthful of sausage – clearly this conversation is guilt free.
“So, if I have a party, do I invite my friends then?” I asked – this is now curiosity – its not going to get much worse.
“No. You don’t have any friends,” comes the response. It could get worse.
“Who do I invite then? Do I just sit there on my own?”
“No. You can invite DadDad. He’s old too.”
Nice. Memo to self – Monkey is not to organise my future parties. And I do have friends. And I’m not old.