I was sitting in the sun, insanely orgasmic 75% cocoa chocolate melting in my mouth. The cats were stalking bugs, free at last to come out to play. Next door the McFireman family lives with their mountain of a dog, Molly. Two kids...about 3 and 1.5. Girls. Mom smokes, and my window is just in the right vortex, as I am overcome several times a day by clouds of nicotine running silenty into my room. And, then, the voices. Mom is a monotone, shrill sort of a bray. 3 is whiny. 1.5 is learning to talk. They are wandering around the yard:

Mom: "You WANNA USE CHALK???!"

1.5: "no..."

Mom: "YOU WANNA DRAW??? ON THE GROUND????"

1.5:"'no..."

Mom: "YOU WANNA DRAW WITH CHALK???"

1.5 "no..."

And so it goes. I sat there annoyed at first, but then sliding into my most Stuart Wilde self decided to just let go and listen. I came up with several sides to this conversation. The most pressing to me at the moment was that it is NO WONDER kids grow into three year olds who repeat themselves and you to death. Like being pecked to death by ducks. The kid was *really* rather clear. Mom just pushed and pushed. For what? I would have kicked her in the shins if I were that kid. Or vomit on her shoe, yeah, that's it, vomit on the keds why dontcha.