“How come you know so much?” Miss4 asked her mother.
“I listened to my Mum when I was your age,” Tracey told her.
Why is it I never think of these clever ways to create the illusion that Dad knows everything?
The question had come about because they’d decorated gingerbread men at Miss4’s prep this day and our daughter had decided hers was a girl.
“Even though it’s got no hair,” she said.
“Some girls don’t have long hair,” Tracey explained to our daughter, which was why the whole ‘how’d you get to smarts’ bit had surfaced. But then, after explaining the importance of listening to your mother, Tracey ruined it by going on. “In fact,” she said, “some girls have really, really short hair.” Miss4 shrugged noncommittally in agreement. “And some girls even have none.”
This brought about a pause in the discussion as Miss4 processed this new nugget of information. Then, with a huff and a shake of her head, she announced her conclusion.
“No,” she said finally, shaking her head. “I think you don’t know everyfink.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tracey. She could feel her intellectual high ground eroding beneath her feet. “Girls don’t have to have long hair, and girls can have bald heads.”
“No,” said Miss4, giggling at her mother’s stupidity. “You’re wrong, don’t you know.”
“I’m not,” pleaded Tracey. Then, in desperation, she started throwing out names to prove her point, if only they meant something to a four year old. “Sinead O’Conner…Sigourney Weaver…ummm…Vin Diesel?”
But Miss4 was having none of it.
“No, you are not smart, Mummy. Sorry,” said Miss4, again with the head shaking. And then she held her mother’s head between her hands, looked her in the eyes and told her exactly why. “You don’t know much because you don’t know that kissing is gross.”
Based on that criteria I’m pleased to report both Miss4’s parents are idiots.
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