One of the regular routines which takes place in our household is Ringing Mrs Tin’s Handbag.
Whenever Mrs Tin has to go out anywhere there is a frantic search for her handbag. Luckily she always leaves her mobile at the bottom of it. This renders her mobile useless, of course, at its supposed function as a means of being able to contact her, but means that it excels in its alternative career as a Handbag Homing Device.
Anyway, yesterday morning Mrs Tin was going out, and as usual couldn’t find her bag. I rang her number, a ringing was heard from the bedroom, she retrieved the the handbag from under something-or-other, and off she went. An hour later she rang me.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Er, what?” I said.
“You rang me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did,” she insisted, “I’ve got a missed call from you.”
“Er, I think that was probably when I Rang Your Handbag,” I suggested gently.
“Oh shit, yeah, probably,” she said.
Although Tingirl could only hear my side of the conversation, she guessed what was going on, and was now giggling loudly.
“My daughter’s laughing at me, isn’t she,” sighed Mrs Tin.
Quite often my children do silly things, and it’s nice every now and then to be reminded that it’s not only my genes that are the cause of that.