Oh Davey

Nell: Why is David upstairs on the bed rolling around with a smile on his face?

Me: Sally liked his poem. She texted him on WoofsApp. She called him Davey.

Nell: Good grief.

Me: I think it’s adorable.

Nell: It’s just a crush. There’s no future in it. Sally has to go back to London.

Me: So does Charlie and I don’t see you giving up on him.

Nell: Charlie and I are adults. Anyway, let me see the poem.

Me: No. It’s private.

Nell: You’ve seen it.

Me: He wanted me to check it for spelling.

Nell: Go on read it to me.

Me: Alright, but don’t be critical.

“Sally is pretty

Sally is sweet.

Sally likes rainbows

Sally likes meat.

Sally wears glasses

Sally drinks tea

And maybe, just maybe

Sweet Sally likes me.”

Nell: “Sally likes meat.” That’s not very romantic.

Me: It made her laugh. She wrote him a poem back.

Nell: Well, go on. I know he’s shown it to you from the silly look on your face.

Me: Alright.

“Your poem was lovely,

And funny like you.

There’s no maybe, dear Davey

Because I like you too.”

Nell: You know he is going to be unbearable when she leaves.

Me: I know. You can both mope away together.

Nell: I never mope. I may feel a little low but I remain dignified. David, however, is quite another box of biscuits.

Me: Don’t you mean kettle of fish?

Nell: No. Please don’t mention fish.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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