“Dids”, you may recall, is what my children call me instead of “Dad”, because that would be too easy; so “Dids” it is, to the confusion of everyone outside of our immediate family…
MILLIE: What’s an angry weasel?
There is a short pause.
ME: Millie, it’s quarter past nine at night, why on earth do you want to know what an “angry weasel” is?
All the while thinking: please don’t let it be a sex thing please don’t let it be a sex thing…
MILLIE: I read it in my book earlier and I forgot to ask you then.
We pull up some pictures of weasels on the computer.
ME: That’s a weasel. It has sharp teeth but is smaller than a cat.
MILLIE: If you were in a sack with one what would happen?
There is another short pause.
ME: In a…? What??
MILLIE: If you were in a sack with an angry weasel, what would happen?
ME: Well, I… It wouldn’t kill you, but it wouldn’t be much fun.
MILLIE: OK. ‘Night.
There are times when I feel like a one-man Google in this house.