When they dropped her off I thanked them, but apparently Miss8 made the trip fun with her banter.
"Sometimes I think I'm half boy and half girl," Miss8 explained to them all. When they told me I rolled my eyes but then it occurred to me she's spot on. Not that I think she's having gender identity issues because, "Maybe I'm a little more girl because I like girl's stuff." Makes sense to me.
She then proceeded to tell them how messy our house was. Being a large family themselves, and so understanding the messonomics involved, they said their house was too. But Miss8 was having none of that. Without even having to see their place she assured them our house was worse. And especially her room.
'It's a pigsty," she explained.
"You told them what?" Tracey asked aghast.
"A. Pig. Sty."
"You don't tell people that!" she said, a little manically.
"But you say it all the time," Miss8 explained to her. Where do you go with that?
"Well I'll have to change how I tell the kids to clean their rooms," said Tracey. Kids are like parrots: they repeat what they hear. Better think fast too, because it won't be long before they've covered the floor in more crap.
Sure enough, an hour later the girl's room was a mess again. Always keen for an opportunity to shine and show my wife how helpful I can be, I marched in and announced, "This room is a brothel!"
Apparently my services as a parent are no longer required.
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