Fluffy

Sometimes I enjoy listening to Gwennie and Emma chatter.

Jethro and I took them to the circus the other night and I bought them a stuffed tiger and a leather whip during the intermission. The following conversation ensued:

Gwennie: What do you want to name him? We both have to agree.

Emma: I think we should call him Fluffy.

Gwennie: What?! He's a vicious tiger. You can't call him 'Fluffy.'

Emma: But he is fluffy.

Gwennie: But he isn't trained yet. We haven't even whipped him yet. He's still wild. You can't call a tiger 'Fluffy' if he's wild, even if he really is fluffy.

They ended up calling him Rory, which I thought was hysterical. You might think it's clever, but I don't think they know that Rory is really a name.




We went to church yesterday. Gwennie became possessed by the Devil. We were standing during opening prayers which went on for a bit. When we sat down, Gwennie breathed loudly and said, "Finally!"


I told her I was going to beat the starch out of her if she didn't keep her mouth shut for the rest of the time, in as low a voice as I could manage. She didn't talk much after that, but she did kick the lady sitting next to us, reached over me to hit Emma, and attempted to sit on the back of the pew in front of us.

I don't really want to go back to that church.