Nurturing
On Saturday I attended a birthday party for the son of some friends.
What To Say At A Birthday Party For A One Year Old.
Correct: "Hello, you special little birthday boy you!"
Incorrect: "How's it goin', Monkey Boy."
Correct: "Ooh, isn't he just as cute as a button!"
Incorrect: "Has he done anything interesting yet?"
Correct: "He looks more like you every day!"
Incorrect: "Child schmild. I'm just here for the free fairybread."
Well, at least I can argue that my impoliteness is genetic. I have a nine month old nephew who is variously referred to by my family as Butterball, Porker, Lard Boy, Blubber Butt and The Sphere of Doom, because he has a higher percentage of fat than a block of cheese. Family gatherings have become little more than 'Heap Insults On The Hilariously Obese Nephew/Son/Grandson' sessions.
I sometimes worry that, at some level, he's absorbing the near-constant jokes about him having the shape and consistency of a silicone breast implant. If he ends up with bulimia in twenty years' time, we'll all know who to blame.
posted by Blandwagon at 6:02 PM
3 Comments:
Please provide more information on the fairy bread situation. White bread or brown bread? Butter or margarine? Details Blandy, details.
Soft white Tip-Top bread, real butter, and the colours from the 100s and 1000s running like a red sock in a load of white washing.
A class act all the way.
That's good. Personally, I'm anxious to use Jim Carrey's "I don't speak monkey" line (from A Series of Unfortunate Events), but I'm going to hold onto your second suggestion as well.
And isn't it funny when you tell people that their child looks like them, they always say "thank you"? I rarely mean that complimentary.
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