You know, when I was younger and greener, a friend of mine had a young child who spent a lot of time with us. We all lived in a big post-student house and her daughter spent a lot of weekends in said house. And I, what with being younger and greener and all that, had a notion that capitalism and ownership must be a learned concept, based on an isolated observation of this girl’s daughter giving away without any qualms whatsoever some pine cones she had collected. (“When you have your own children” is a sentence-starter that can be on a par with “When I found God”, so I apologise for the next sentence:) When you have your own children, such illusions are soon shattered (I wanted to put in a simile referring to a chimera and Belleraphon here, but my Greek mythology just isn’t up to it). The first words most of these little tykes learn is ,”No, mine! Mine, mine, MINE!” Ho-hum.
All the same, watching language develop is fun and interesting in equal measure. I wish toddler social habits could be carried on into the adult world (admittedly, some adults have toddler social habits). It being half-term and all, today we did one of our family trips and visited Christmas Tree Farm in Downe. I was surprised there was so much greenery so close to South London. Anyway, of all the animals on display, Thurston went straight for the chickens, turkeys and ducks. Over and over again. We dragged him around the rest of the farm, to be sure, but that was where his heart was. But you know, as we walked around the farm, it kind of depressed me. The parenting skills on display, I mean, You get into the farm and you can buy, for a mere 50p, a bucket of animal feed. And strewn across this farm were empty buckets. Not just one or two, but dozens. Which adds up to a lot of parents who just do not give a flying donut about their child littering. At this point, I need to calm my blood pressure. But I digress. Blah blah, terrible kids, terrorising animals, blah blah, and then Thurston, after saying, “Sorry chicken” to some chicken he’s bumped into with the gate, pours the rest of the animal feed right over the top of a chicken, laughs his lungs out, and then spends the next ten minutes chasing ducks. Toddler fun, parental consternation (which could be a mantra). And after that, we go to a local pub, and in the garden there is a toddler play area, and a little girl playing in the wooden den-house. And this is how Thurston, without further ado, introduces himself to the little girl: “I chased ducks.” Now that’s an introduction, and no mistake.
I sort of wish, now, that I hadn’t spent so much time in my younger days (not that I’m exactly old, but hey, Jesus died when he was my age, and Kurt Kobain, who, let’s face it, has had far more impact on my life than Jesus, died when he was six years younger than I am right now) wasting time on deliberating about how to meet people (did I say people? I meant girls). You just march right up and, without further ado (or embarrassment), announce the most important aspect of your day or life. Some possible introductions:
“I ate eggs for breakfast.”
“I bought PCGamer.”
“I surfed for porn.”
“I typed over one thousand meaningless numbers into Excel today. That’s more than yesterday. Meaningless, I mean.”
Come to think of it, I doubt if it would have helped. But it might be worth a go anyway. At worst, the other person will just think you’re talking on your hands-free mobile phone. Feel free to leave your own, should you happen by.