Dinner conversation at our house can vacillate from the mundane to the truly inappropriate at any given time. Tonight the subject de jour was amour. I’m not sure how it began, but I’d guess that it started with a sister sibling teasing another sister sibling about a boy who tends to stare at her when she’s not looking.
Causing a good deal of blushing and hiding beneath hair and hands. Also causing a paternal parental unit to ponder the joys of, say, gun cleaning, when future potential suitors come to call.
As the conversation lingered on her, she began picking up food with her fingers and licking them clean. Her father ventured, “How are we ever going to get you married off with manners like that?”
To which this particular 12 year old girl announced that she was NEVER going to marry. Fiddledaddy and I looked at one another, quickly pondering the aspect of this child living with us until she’s 35. OH YEAH, YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED ALL RIGHT. PICK UP YOUR FORK.
Jensen, who had been unusually quiet through all of this, stated that he really likes talking about matters of the heart, and was looking forward to marrying some day. Like when he’s 18. It should be noted at this point that his relationship and subsequent betrothal to E over the last two years has cooled considerably. No longer do his potential future mother-in-law and I have to crow bar the two of them apart. A turn of events in which I’m both happy and sad about.
Anyhoo. Jensen was talking about a certain other little girl who liked him. “How do you know she likes you, dude?” “Well, she follows me around making goo-goo eyes at me.” (I don’t know who this is, but I’m going to be keeping my ear to the ground, to be sure.)
Fiddledaddy confided to his boy that in his own youth, the girls used to chase him a good deal. “In fact,” he waxed poetic, “one time a girl pushed me down into a box and kissed me.” This was said with a look of both pride and a certain disdain, which Jensen took notice of.
“What’s the problem with that?” Jensen asked incredulously.
“You wouldn’t mind getting pushed down and kissed?”
After a moments consideration, “Well, it depends on who it is.”
Spoken like a true Casanova in training. Lord help me.
I’ve got to go find a gun to clean.
Have a fabulous weekend, my friends!