Questions, questions, questions....

Monday, September 8 08

"There really ought to be an "answers page" attached to a baby as it's born," decided Mrs Bennet, who was exhausted by the question missiles which knocked her down on a daily basis.
"Puzzle books have an answer section, but there's no such thing for mothers. If only we could press a button on our head so a witty reply appeared instantly in the brain."
But witty replies weren't flowing. The in tray was too full and there was a problem with the out tray. It was clogging up. It was hardly surprising considering what was expected of it.
"Why has that lady got pink hair?" asked one Miss Bennet, while the other inquired: "When you shave your legs Mummy, is it like peeling a carrot?" At the same time, one twin Bennet, in her own way (i.e. crying) demanded: "But why can't I hit my sister on the head with a brush?" Meanwhile, the twin who was being bashed, was equally upset because her mother had taken an object off her too, so her cries were a combination of pain due to the brush weapon and confusion as to "Why can't I suck the yellow lead out of the pencil?"
Miss Bennet number two was by no means silent on the questioning front. "It's not fair, why haven't I got a magazine," or "Why has she got some chocolate and I haven't?"
Mrs Bennet frequently asked the question "why?" herself. It was normally when she put strange things in strange places; lost her keys when she had them just moments earlier or when she walked into the door, because she'd forgotten to open it first. But she did emphasise with one of her daughters, who during one bath time asked: "Why did God create nits?" "Mmm," she thought, "I'm not sure the answer to that one."