I'm the kind of person who skips to the conversation when reading a book.
Elliot walked into the kitchen singing, “Vigaro! Vigaro, Vigaro, Vi-Ga-Ro!”
“It’s Figaro,” I told him. “Fff, Fff,” I said, emphasizing the “f” sound.
“I know,” he said. “I was checking to make sure you were listening.”
That’s something I often say to compensate for my mistakes. I never know if Elliot is serious, or kidding, or what.
“Do you know the story?” he asked me.
Quite honestly, I don’t. “No,” I told him.
“It’s about a hairdresser,” he said.
Serious, kidding, or what, I wondered. “Oh yeah,” I said, “and he lived in Spain.”
“Right,” said Elliot. “And he was flamboyant.”
“I didn’t know that about him,” I told him.
“That means he floated well,” Elliot said, with a straight face.
I burst out laughing.
Serious, kidding, or what, I wondered.
And should I tell him that there’s a difference between buoyant and flamboyant?
I love my children.