Little Pitchers Have Big Ears—And Even Bigger Mouths
To keep peace in the nation, I started working half-days. Alexandra and I would head into town; she would stay with me until mid-afternoon (being spoiled rotten left and right), then we'd head back home and find Victoria ready and waiting to take her afternoon promenade. Suzy Bailey (who had been with us a year and a half and—thank heavens—showed no signs of leaving) would wrangle the Corgis while Mother proudly pushed the stroller around the block. Ducky and I might occasionally worry about making it to Alexandra's high school graduation—but Mother had no doubts. She would be there with bells on.
So, given her regular afternoon schedule, it shouldn't be a shocker what Alexandra's first word was.
Not Da-da.
Not Ma-ma (darn it).
Not even Gamma, Grandma or some other version of "grandmother."
While we were eating dinner and she was destroying (and eating) shreds of pot roast, potatoes and carrots, the doorbell rang and the dogs went berserk—and my angel daughter belted out her first and second words with singular clarity:
"Damned dogs!"
Since I actually like the 'damned dogs,' it was someone else who needed to clean up his act.
As soon as he stopped laughing.