This afternoon as I was getting ready for my lady date, Vince came running down the hallway and threw open my bedroom door.
Leaning against it, he started shouting at me…
I was shaving my legs. You know, that one time a week when I have someone to impress? That are ladies?
So in he runs, shouting something that frankly was rather hard to understand. By the third time he shouted it, I understood and then started to inwardly laugh…
Vincent: “Sweetie! Sweetie sweetie! Sweetie! SWEETIE!!!”
Mummy: “Ah…. Yes?”
Vince: “I did a big poo.”
Who knew that this was a ‘sweetie’ worthy conversation topic?
And guess what? That is totally all my fault.
‘Sweetie’ and ‘Babe and ‘Honey’ are all things that I regularly call Vince instead of his actual name. And clearly he thinks this is just things that people call one another. Which, technically, is true if you actually, physically live in my house.
Everyone has some other name, or no name, or a name plus an additional name. Like how the dog is “Chewie McBitersonton”. Or how Edward is, well, ‘Edward’. He’s just too formal. And a huge pain in my ass. And Vince, of course, has too many names to list.
About 2 weeks ago, Vince shouted “Honey!! HONEY!! HONEY!!!!!!”
Vince: “Mummy, your my best fwen. I wuve you.”
Mummy: *heart melt* “Love you too baby…”