Leonardo is only four but showing great foresight when it comes to his domestic future.
“When I live here with my darling,” he told me the other day, “you can live by the trampoline.” The trampoline is on the lawn, conveniently close to the pool but really not convenient for anything else. Still, I will do as I’m told and am already planning to have it re-upholstered pink.
“Who will your darling be?” I asked him, secretly hating her already, like any doting mother would.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But she will have long hair and we will kiss on the lips.”
My mother has been here for a few days. It’s been amazing. Like having a clone of myself running around doing all the things I do. Now she has gone, leaving the house immaculate and the washing and ironing piles non-existent. This is the first time that’s happened since she was here last year.
Last night Leonardo asker her who her darling was.
“You,” she replied.
“But I don’t want to marry you,” he said, looking horrified.
“OK, then mummy is my darling,” said my darling mummy.
“Nooooo, she’s already got Daddy,” Leonardo said shaking his head.
“Right. My cats. They’re my darlings,” said my mother.
“But they don’t got no lips,” came the response.
So now you know, a darling has to have long hair and lips. No wonder Mick Jagger is so popular.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008