…If only to end all the FaceTime requests from my daughter. I’m in bed, I’m at the pool, I’m in a restaurant, no matter where I am she can see the background and what I’m wearing.
“Is that a BATHING SUIT?”
“I hate you. What are you drinking? Is that a straw and a lemon? There better not be an umbrella. WAIT. Is that a rooftop pool?”
Sigh. “Yep, ya got me.”
“I hate you more now.”
“Oh, good, then it won’t much matter if I go order room service from Gordon Ramsey.”
“Just for that, here’s Luke. Pooping.”
And dammit if she didn’t follow the dog outside with her iPod.
She closed with, “I wrote a song. Wanna hear it?”
“It’s called ‘Cereal.'”
“Ready?” She took a deep breath, and let it out in a whoosh. I held the phone away from my ears. Nothing.
“That was it! Did you like it?”
(This is where we started with the phrases Guy is supposed to try to work into his closing talk in Hungary today.)
“Daphne, you are an endless font of cognitive dead ends.”
“Here’s a closeup of the inside of Luke’s ear. Take a picture.”