Tuesday, March 21, 2006

The Recorder

We left the house this morning, Bean festooned with her survival kit: bag 'O Froot Loops, milk and, this was new, a small recorder; a vestige from her birthday party the prior day.

As part of the jaunt to day care I took my shirts the laundry. Bean, seeing them, remarked: you're going to make them dry? [Referring to "dry cleaning"] Touching them, her little brow furrowed, she stated, quite obviously: Dada, they're already dry.

Yes dear, I replied, I'm taking them to the laundry to be cleaned and ironed. Just like when Mommy and Daddy do laundry at home except we're paying someone else to do it.

Ok.

Do you want to play Word of the Day? The word for today is "Outsourcing"

No Dada. I want to play my recorder.

After dropping off the shirts we continued down Seventh Avenue. Bean exclaimed with glee: Dada, another laundry! There's lots of laundries here.

Yes dear, I replied shifting into 3rd didactic gear, lots of laundries means lots of competition. Competition is the lifeblood of capitalism. Do you understand? Pause. Now what's the lifeblood of capitalism?

I want to play my recorder.

And so we whistled while we walked.