Mother and Father Guildford sat at the dining room table, conscious of the young ears present in their company. The two sprogs shovelled peas and carrots into their mouths, apparently more intent on consuming than listening.
Mother Guildford questioned her husband, “At this time of year of the death of our Saviour, were you able to purchase the seasonal confectionery?”
“Affirmative,” said Father Guildford. “And I also was able to purchase the prescribed item for someone’s chronological advancement.”
Mother and Father Guildford eyed their children, but no spark of recognition interrupted the clink of cutlery on china. As intuitive ears had long been able to spell, Mother and Father found new ways to converse without letting on.
“Got a call from my mother today,” said Father Guildford. “She told me that Mrs Hannah from across the road bought the farm.”
“That’s sad. When are the arrangements for?”
“Next Tuesday. Kids, how was school today? What was the best part of the day for you?”
Young Master replied, “Best part was Recess, Lunch and Home Time.”
His elder sister rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Then she cast the line to snare her father, “Today, we learnt all about the reproductive system from the pages of ‘Girlfriend’ magazine.”
A choking sound followed a snort. Father Guildford went red in the face. The elder girl smiled to herself.
Taking his glass of wine to wash away the idea of his little girl growing up, he caught a strange odour. Father Guildford wrinkled his nose, his face contorting. “Which one of you let fluffy off the chain?”
“It wasn’t me, Dad,” said the elder girl.
Young Master added, “Nah, I didn’t crack the sewer pipe.”
All eyes turned towards Mother Guildford. “I place the blame squarely on the dog.”