Miss Fliss was a woodpecker in a former life.
That’s the only way I can explain her determination that sees her asking again and again and again until she gets something.
She’s not obnoxious, she doesn’t whine, and she doesn’t nag. She just brings the issue to the forefront of your mind by exclaiming every five seconds something obliquely related to her main quest. Today’s mission was the day off school. Not because she’s work-shy, or even that she’s having problems at school, but rather because today the Olympic torch is passing through our area.
I haven’t been particularly thrilled about the Olympics, I confess. Anything that is going to add millions of people to the already over-congested Tube and London transport system is a bit of a norse, in my view. Add in that it also requires a clutch of ground to air missile placements around the city, and cancelled leave for every serving policeman woman and dog in the country, and I’m a tad nervous. I’ve already decided that I’m not going anywhere near London come July 27th, if I can possibly help it. And that’s not because I’m a chicken (bawk bawk bawk) or because I wince every time I see the Olympic logo and have to ban indecent images of Lisa Simpson providing oral relief to an un-named man, from my brain.
It’s just a little bit, groupie-ish. Isn’t it?
Miss Flissy however doesn’t share my view. (She also thinks Lisa Simpson is beyond reproach)
The pecking away started last night with a few casual comments.
“There won’t be many people at school tomorrow.”
“Really?” Disinterested me kept focussing on the fried rice.
“Yeah, they’re all going to see the Olympic Torch Relay.”
Pointed look. ‘Get my drift Mum?’
I grunted in reply, and continued what I was doing. Fried rice can so easily turn into fried rice cake.
It continued today….the pecking….from 6am. I was grabbing a few early morning moments of peace when Miss Flissy appeared sighing loudly.
“It will be really quiet at school today. And my legs are really sore from the athletics the other day.”
I zoned out but did hear the words Olympic Torch, repeated at least six times. She could have poured herself a bowl of ‘Olympic torch’ and sloshed on some ‘Olympic Torch’ milk, for breakfast for all I know. That was followed by an ‘Olympic Torch’ shower, and a session of ‘Olympic Torch’ dressing.
Finally she decided I was just too good at ignoring her. I am after all well practised after having three kids.
“Mum…it would be really good to see the Olympic Torch today…because it is kind of like a sort-of once in a lifetime opportunity.”
Her eyes pleaded, she held her breath and scanned my face for my reaction, which was like all the air squealing out of a balloon in defeat.
Who can argue with that kind of persistence? Who can argue with that brilliant understatement?
We’re off to see the sodding Olympic Torch relay. Photos coming later.
Image: Flickr CC