blamebrampton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blamebrampton) wrote2012-04-12 08:28 pm
blamebrampton) wrote2012-04-12 08:28 pm
This is why the kids like me ...
One of my friends left her 15-year-old daughter in the combined care of me and Mr B and another nice couple from Newcastle over the Easter Weekend.
This kid is actually a friend of mine, too, not just the daughter of friends. She's got a really good head on her shoulders and is pretty damn funny as well as bright, and not at all afraid to mock us back when we give her affectionate grief. We did some fun stuff, like trying out eye make-up and trying on hats -- one of which was more of a Head Chicken than a hat (seriously -- if I could train a red Silkie hen to sit on the side of my head, it would have looked EXACTLY the same!) and then we took her up to the Hawkesbury and left her camping with hundreds of mad mediaevalists, including the Novocastrians.
Of course, despite the fact that we were totally not camping, Mr B and I ended up spending a ridiculous amount of time there, too. Which led to the situation where Ms 15 and I were visiting a boofy friend's cook tent after dark for a quick chat and gossip. A nice random chick walked in and offered us homemade cider.
'Oh, good one,' said Mr Boofy. 'Offer the 15-year-old alcohol!'
I don't really drink much, but I wanted to see if it was good cider, so I asked if I could smell it.
'OK,' said Nice Random. 'But if you're 15, don't get drunk on the fumes.'
'I'm 45,' I muttered, while Young Lass and Mr Boofy died of laughter.
I assured Nice Random that she was my fave, because, seriously, I can maybe pass for 33 on a good day in dim light, then turned to Young Lass to waggle my finger at her immoderate laughter.
'Yeah, apparently you're 15,' she teased me.
'There's a really ugly portrait in my attic,' I replied, poking my tongue out at her. 'Anyway, you should be offended, when she had to pick a teenager out of the two of us, she went with me!'
'Yeah, she was totally going on height there ...'
Friends, I let her live. And this is why you can trust me with your children.
This kid is actually a friend of mine, too, not just the daughter of friends. She's got a really good head on her shoulders and is pretty damn funny as well as bright, and not at all afraid to mock us back when we give her affectionate grief. We did some fun stuff, like trying out eye make-up and trying on hats -- one of which was more of a Head Chicken than a hat (seriously -- if I could train a red Silkie hen to sit on the side of my head, it would have looked EXACTLY the same!) and then we took her up to the Hawkesbury and left her camping with hundreds of mad mediaevalists, including the Novocastrians.
Of course, despite the fact that we were totally not camping, Mr B and I ended up spending a ridiculous amount of time there, too. Which led to the situation where Ms 15 and I were visiting a boofy friend's cook tent after dark for a quick chat and gossip. A nice random chick walked in and offered us homemade cider.
'Oh, good one,' said Mr Boofy. 'Offer the 15-year-old alcohol!'
I don't really drink much, but I wanted to see if it was good cider, so I asked if I could smell it.
'OK,' said Nice Random. 'But if you're 15, don't get drunk on the fumes.'
'I'm 45,' I muttered, while Young Lass and Mr Boofy died of laughter.
I assured Nice Random that she was my fave, because, seriously, I can maybe pass for 33 on a good day in dim light, then turned to Young Lass to waggle my finger at her immoderate laughter.
'Yeah, apparently you're 15,' she teased me.
'There's a really ugly portrait in my attic,' I replied, poking my tongue out at her. 'Anyway, you should be offended, when she had to pick a teenager out of the two of us, she went with me!'
'Yeah, she was totally going on height there ...'
Friends, I let her live. And this is why you can trust me with your children.
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It's always nice when people enyoungen us! I once rang Mr B excited because the bus driver had asked if I wanted a concession ticket, thinking I was a student. He told me the driver probably thought I was a pensioner, the rotter!
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