There's a family-run diner - not far from our place - that we like to go to for a weekend brunch, every now and then. A treat. They do great pancakes, milkshakes, omelettes, spicy breakfast burritos as large as your face... I could go on.
The fact that this diner isn't part of a franchise makes us love it even more. I don't know if it's typical of American restaurants, but it seems that in our neck of the woods, the majority of restaurants and diners belong to nation-wide franchises that specialise in bland food: Appplebees, IHOP, Marie Callender's, Olive Garden... again, I could go on. Those places hold no interest for us, though.
So, yesterday, we found ourselves at our diner. Endless coffee? Check. Toddler in high chair, throwing everything within reach onto the floor? Um, check.
When it was time to order, I began with, "I'll have a Californian omelette, but without the tomato-"
"It's tom-AY-to, not tom-AH-to, Mum!" The Faery shook her head, and gave the waitress a knowing look.
Wow. Looks like I have a little five-year-old smart arse on my hands.
Yeah, that's right. A smart arse, not ass. I am too old to change the way I speak, and I don't want to.
At least she still calls me Mum, not Mom...