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Thursday, 17 November 2011

Then stamp on it
Christ on a bike if my heavily medicated spirit has just taken another small, yet everlasting, kicking. Why? Read the conversation I've just had with Kraken Junior. And weep:
Me: "Look! Your Tinkerbell comic has a fairy mobile that we can make!"
KJ: "A mobile? Can we play with it?"
Me: "Course. Want me to put it together for you?"
KJ: "Yeah. Can we call someone after that?"
Me: "Eh?"
KJ: "Call someone. On the mobile phone you're making."
As sure as shit slides off a shovel, this has to be the most disheartening fucking conversation I've had in something like 30 years. KJ is three years of age and she thought I was talking about a mobile phone. How the fuck did that happen? We read her books about bears and pirates! We spend hour after fucking hour spilling glitter across the floor! She thinks thunder and lightening is caused by Santa taking a dump! 
When the fuck did technology overtake all that's good and innocent about dangling fairies off her ceiling by making KJ think I was fashioning a mobile communication device from the pages of a bloody magazine? 
Start praying for the safety of the next gimp who tries to flog me a mobile phone, will you? Or it'll be them that KJ finds dandling from the frigging ceiling.

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