My host family has a one-year-old son. Despite my general indifference to children I have to admit that this little guy is cute. That is, until I leave my door open for a few moments and turn around to see my toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.
He also loves phones. He will take your phone and put it against his ear as if he were deep in conversation with someone on the other line and he shouts “ooh!” and “ahh?” Take the phone away, however, and he howls like a banshee on the moors.
He’s got an excellent set of lungs, that’s for sure. He should take up a brass instrument one day. In any case he is a big hit with company. Yesterday a few members of the extended family showed up for lunch and they didn’t give a damn about the three foreigners at the table. Not that I minded of course. They didn’t speak a word of English, so communication would have been difficult.
They loved that little boy though. Everyone loves the cute little kid, sometimes even when he’s screaming. As guests fawn: “oh I want to just take you home with me!” a strange look appears on the parents’ faces. It’s a sort of flash-back look, as if their minds are remembering last night, when junior threw a tantrum after the phone was taken away, and how he then threw his yogurt at the volunteers, all the while screeching in the language of dolphins from Hell.
After the flash-back has passed another look graces their faces, one that says: “I’m glad you offered!” He’s all yours! I’ll put the stroller in your trunk right now.”