04/02/2012

Wilson visits the tattoo studio

Without telling me, Wilson snuck out of the house and went up to the top of the high street to the Tattoo Parlour. On his return, he said that the tattoo artist was very nice, and gave him some tattoos without charging him. He then showed me a packet of Temporary Tattoos.
He seems very happy with these, and I'm hoping that his desire for a real tattoo has abated…
I asked W how he'd feel about a pet mouse. He countered with a request for a sheep, pointing out that "it would keep the grass short, and we could knit all our own clothes!"

03/02/2012

Wilson changes his mind...

Over coffee this morning, Wilson told me, he'd changed his mind about the tattoo. I couldn't hide my relief and told him I was certain that he'd reached the right decision.
"I can see that the dragon was a silly idea," he continued, "which I would have regretted in the fulness of time. Instead, I'm going to have a pierced heart with the words 'MUM, Mrs Vermilingua' entwined around it. My heart sunk a little lower.
He went on to say, "And I don't want a dog. I don't think dogs like me. I was slightly chased by a dog once, and it barked at me. Dogs feel threatened by my superior intellect and climbing abilities. And my marketing skills, of course."

02/02/2012

I found a load of pictures of donkeys and kangaroos magneted to the fridge door this morning. To save time I went straight to Wilson, who was watching me from his bed in the tumble-dryer, and said in my firmest voice: "No donkeys! No kangaroos! No goats, crocodiles, albatrosses, porcupines, rhinoceroses, zebras, okapis, hairy mammoths or gnus!"
"I don't want a crocodile!" he replied, implying that any of the alternatives would be very acceptable to him.
"You can have a puppy!" I blurted out. I was certain that this would be the ideal pet for W, and I expected him to embrace this idea enthusiastically… but he was strangely diffident. He looked at the floor and shuffled about a bit, not meeting my eyes. 

01/02/2012

I am out-logiced. Again.

Wilson has just explained to me that the heroine of the 'Dragon Tattoo' novel, Lisbeth Salander, is cute, cool, punky and brave. "Nothing says 'cute, cool, punky and brave' like a tattoo" he continued.
"So you intend to have 'CUTE, COOL, PUNKY AND BRAVE' tattooed on your arm?" I asked, appalled.
"Obviously not", he replied, "That would be dumb. I'll have a dragon on my shoulder."
"It will be under your fur! No-one will be able to see it!" I countered.
"Then it need not concern you" he replied with, let's face it, unassailable logic. 


31/01/2012

Breakfast in bed

Wilson prepared and served an ant-free breakfast and brought it to me in bed. Past experience suggested that he's after something or about to break some bad news; neither of these prospects cheers me, but I thanked him and tucked in. 
Halfway through my orange juice (actually I did find a couple of ants at the bottom of the glass) he asked me if I have any strong opinions about camels. I told him that yes I do: I have a strong opinion that they would be entirely unsuitable as pets. 
"Even if he slept outside?"
"Even if he never entered the house."
"An elephant?"
"The same."
"Even a baby elephant?"
"It would soon grow up into a two-ton monster that ate all your bananas." 
I don't think he'd thought of that -- W is very fond of a banana or two.

30/01/2012

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Last night Wilson finished The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (Kindle edition); this morning over breakfast he casually announced that he was thinking of getting a tattoo himself.
I have serious parental responsibility here. He's only four years old, and a tattoo is for life, not just for Xmas. Hang on, that's a dog -- I wonder if Wilson would like a dog?
A dog is a big responsibility, and a big financial commitment… but not as big as a pony. I'll suggest this tomorrow, when I put my foot down about the tattoo.

29/01/2012

Pet discussions proceed...

I've explained to Wilson that, even with the income from his Adam Ant tribute album, we couldn't afford to keep a pony. He took this very well, considering. 
I suggested that as an alternative I'd have no objection to a kitten.
"A cat?" he scorned. "Pooh! Sly, squinty-eyed mammal-torturers. I spit on cats! Never! They climb up the curtains, you know!"
"You climb up the curtains!" I pointed out.
"Exactly!" he replied with a snort, crossing his arms as though this settled everything.