This morning, Kit asked me A Most Unexpected Question.
“Is all our furniture gluten-free?”
“What? Why?” I asked, perplexed.
“Because My [imaginary] Friend, Pammy Pig has coeliac disease. She can’t have gluten in anything,” he explained.
“So, why would it be a problem if there was gluten in, say, our couch?”
He looked at me scathingly.
“I just said she can’t have gluten in anything. It gives her diarrhoea. Furniture is something. So if she sat on our couch, and it had gluten in it, she would get diarrhoea on our couch. Is that what you want? Because if you’re not listening, and there is gluten in it, that’s what will happen!”
“I think you’ll find most furniture is gluten-free, including all of ours. So you can tell Pammy Pig she is welcome to visit.”
“You tell her; she’s right here,” Kit said tetchily.
“And how do I know when one of your imaginary friends is here?” I enquired.
“Well, duh! They’ll say hello to you,” he replied abruptly.
“Ah. I see,” I nodded sagely, not seeing at all, and acutely aware that I am more likely to be greeted by a piece of gluten-free furniture than one of Kit’s imaginary friends.
“It was a bit rude that you ignored her when she said hello just now,” he added.
“Sorry, Pammy. Hello.”
“And is all our white-ware fat-free? Especially the fridge. Pammy likes to keep her fridge fat-free. She says it is ‘…a perilous assault on my will-power to do otherwise.’”
At this point, I surrendered to the absurdity, and assured him that it was. Kit explained that Pammy’s diet was also low fat, and he relayed to me a conversation that he had had with her that very morning. It went something like this:
Pammy: I really want to lose weight.
Kit: What size do you wear now?
Pammy: A ten….ish.
Kit: Well, that’s ok. How big is the ish?
Pammy: It’s thriving, unfortunately. Gets bigger every year.
Kit: And what size would you like to be?
Pammy: Well…I would like to lose the ‘ish.’
Then Kit decided to have a joke with her to cheer her up.
So he said, “The best diet is when you cook the food, admire the food, photograph the food, post the pics on social media, and then throw the food away! You never eat the food because you’re already full…of yourself!”
Seeking a general apology for that comment, I said, “Hey! I post food pictures on Facebook.”
“Well, you can shove them up Where the Thermometer Goes!” said Kit.
It seems an apology is as likely as a greeting from his imaginary friend!