Thursday, May 28, 2009

On misunderstandings.

Many moons ago when I was about three years old, my mother would make all her own clothes; not because she had to, just she liked to.
She also went through a phase of dying fabric and wool so that she could get her outfits exactly the way she wanted them and one of my earliest memories is of sitting in the kitchen surrounded by swathes of drying cloth and cut out patterns.

Anyway, one day my mother was busy upstairs with a new batch of cloth and had left me downstairs to my own devices.
After a while the 'phone rang and as my mother was ups to her elbows in hot, wet cloth, she called to me to answer it and ask who was calling.
Very politely I did so and was asked if my mummy could come to the phone to talk.
To my mother's dismay (and probably to the caller's alarm) she heard me say,
"Sorry, but mummy can't come to the 'phone right now, she's dying"