Today I was talking to him about what we'd have for dinner, and he said that he wanted to go to a local cafe. Well, really a caf, a greasy spoon. We go there pretty regularly because the food is good in that greasy spoon kinda way, but really we go because they've always been amazingly welcoming to the boy - from the breastfeeding infant days to the squalling times, to the days when he couldn't manage being at the table without spilling - and even the time (when I was reading a tabloid paper instead of paying attention) when he scrawled on their formica table top with a ball point pen. All that, and they always greet us with a smile. Not only that, but when we gave them a Christmas card with his picture on it - they displayed it - and again the following year. They're still up. They have more pictures of my son prominently on show than we do.
But they close at mid-afternoon. And when they close, their windows and doors are shuttered with metal, so you know they are really closed. So I had to tell him that we couldn't have dinner there. He was disappointed, but seemed to accept that maybe we could eat there for breakfast or lunch sometime this weekend.
We'd moved on from talking about dinner to talking about animal sounds.
And then he turned around, raised a finger as a kind of point of order and said "I have an idea." I had to ask him to repeat himself - as he'd never said "I have an idea," before and I was a little surprised.
"Ok Buddy," I said "What's your idea?"
And he went into a quite convoluted explanation, complete with hand motions of sawing and sounds and actions.
His idea was to break into the cafe. Great. His first ever proposal of a plan was a heist. Criminal activity in the pursuit of fried eggs. It looks like it's gonna be fun years ahead.
2 comments:
You're only supposed to blow the bloody doors off.
That your son wants to do a heist tickles me to no end.
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