Wednesday, June 23, 2010

What's for dinner? Pizza and sarcasm.

Earlier this evening, G and I were in her lounge, sitting directly across from each other in identical pink-paisley butterfly chairs. I was reading e-mail on my laptop while she, a child of the new millennium, multitasked with Sims on her own laptop, Club Penguin on the DS, and a copy of Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. I had ordered a pizza about half an hour before, and we were waiting for it to arrive when we had this exchange:

G (glancing up): Is the pizza here yet?
Me: ... Did you hear a knock at the door?
G: No.
Me: Did you see me get up and go downstairs to get the pizza?
G: No.
Me: Then I'm gonna have to say it's not here yet.

Belatedly, it occurred to me that if she were just a couple of years younger and less savvy, I could have had a lot of fun with that same conversation:

G: Is the pizza here yet?
Me: Yes. When the pizza guy knocked on the door, I froze time in a one-meter bubble around your chair. I went downstairs, got the pizza, ate, washed my dish, put the leftovers in the fridge, and then unfroze time again. Since you've missed dinner, I guess it's time for bed.

Or:

G: Is the pizza here yet?
Me: Yes. I got tired of waiting, so moving faster than light, I ran eight blocks to the pizza place, picked up the pizza, ate it all, and threw the empty box in a dumpster. Then I ran home and was back in my chair before you noticed I was gone. There aren't any leftovers. Sorry about that.

But, she's 11 and a half and has mastered the Look of Withering Disbelief, so it's probably just as well I didn't.