This exchange took place at the beach at Fleetwood, Lancashire, and is indicative of a newfound cheekiness and general wish to ‘get one over on me’ in two-going-on-three year old. Very funny, though.
Two-going-on-three year old, carefully and delicately tipping small amounts of sand into her hand and fashioning it into a kind of sausage shape: “Look, Mummy, this is my Guinea Pig”.
Me: “Oh, that’s lovely! Does he have a name?”
Two-going-on-three year old: “It’s a girl”.
Me: “Oh, I see. What’s her name?”
Two-going-on-three year old: “Sophie”.
Carries on moulding Sophie the sand-Guinea Pig for a while, while the rest of us eat our picnic.
Me: “Does Guinea Pig have a tail?”
Two-going-on-three year old: “It’s not a Guinea Pig”.
Me: “Oh, what is it, then?”
Two-going-on-three year old, looking at me as if I’ve just said that jelly doesn’t wobble: “Sand”.