Today the kids wanted to play Takeaway. I don’t mind playing Takeaway, because I can usually do something else with my hands. My role is to place an order on my pretend phone, and receive it from the delivery driver. I’m quite good at Takeaway.
Bear, aged 8, was the leader of this particularly chaotic takeaway. I overheard them pretending to phone another customer - customer order 125 - and explaining that their delivery would be delayed by approximately fifteen minutes due to a “rockslide.”
“Hey, wait a minute, what was that?” I asked.
“Are you order number 125?”
“No, I’m order number 165.”
Bear said severely, “we don’t give information about other people’s orders.”
“That’s very professional,” I said, “but what was that about a rockslide?”
Bear said, “that’s not your order.”
“Sorry,” i said, justly chastened. “Was it a big rockslide? Is it on the news?”
“If you need information about your order, you will get it.”
My pretend phone then pretend rang, so I had to answer it. It was the takeaway.
“Number 165? Your order will be delayed by five minutes.”
“Oh,” I said, “why?”
“Because that’s the time it takes us answering all your stupid questions.”