Ooh, I forgot to say. The other day when I was tutoring, my adorable, mop-headed, 11-year-old student was complaining about his sister, who we could hear having a bit of a screaming match with their mother in the next door room.
"She's fifteen," he said, with that oh-so-wise voice that only children can do, "and you know what teenagers are like." He rolled his eyes as I nodded sagely. But then he looked perturbed and said, "Sorry - I hope you're not a teenager? I didn't mean to offend you if so."
A teenager! I could have kissed him if it wouldn't have been deeply wrong on several levels, not to mention massively illegal. The last time I was a teenager, he was minus two years old. That makes me feel queasy. Or maybe it's the full fat Coke I'm drinking in a desperate attempt to combat my hangover before another round of drinks tonight...
That's so sweet!
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