The nine year old girl who lives in my house (I wish her parents or guardian would come pick her up, she’s been here for a while . . . like . . . nine years . . .) offered me a compromise yesterday. We’ve been arguing over the “tent” she has constructed in her room out of blankets, sheets, twigs and human hair. It is now so large, it covers almost 25% of her floor space. She sleeps in it. It looks like a ghetto or District 9 and I have requested that it be taken down.
She refused, which prompted her “compromise”.
Girl – I have a compromise for you. I can make the tent a little smaller or leave it the way it is now.
Me – That’s not a compromise. A compromise is when both parties bring their wants and needs to the negotiating table, a discussion ensues during which each party gives a little and takes a little until an acceptable balance is reached. Your compromise is really more of an anti-compromise. I had no input and no accord has been found.
Girl – I have no idea what you’re talking about. You use too many words and too many big words. You really need to stop that. I can help you practice.
Me – Practice?
Girl – You need to limit yourself to a few short sentences. Try to stick to one or two syllable words, maybe one three syllable word. If you need to use a four syllable word, just don’t, or one per conversation.
Me – I don’t think I can follow those rules.
Girl – Everyone else does.
Me – Amylynn doesn’t.
Girl – Perfect! When you and Miss Amy are together use all the big words you want, use all the ones you both know so that you don’t use them on us.
The tent issue remains unresolved. Heavy sigh . . .