IM needed a little help with her work last evening. She called me ten minutes after my son returned from school. Which meant I was in the thick of things. (As in, Go change your dress! - One minute. Take a bath! - One minute. Have your food! - One minute. Oh, my goodness - look at your fingernails! Come here, let me trim them for you. - One minute. How MANY one minutes do you need??)
While I was talking to (read that as trying to talk to) IM, my hair got royally styled up. (Amme - I will comb your hair. - No, please! Ouch, you're hurting me! Where's your hairclip. Let me- Oooohhhh my hair! Will you stop that? Etc. etc.)
Needless to say, I could not make much out of what IM was saying with so much going on in my life, so I promised to return her call in 30 minutes, once I got the seven-year-old sorted out. Then I pulled him to me and started assaulting his fingernails (Eeek! long, dirty nails, what do you do with them all day?).
"I need to finish this quickly and call IM, she needs some urgent help," I said.
"What help does she need?"
"Something to do with work."
"You won't understand."
"Okay... She wanted to know if she should choose the Twitter of the Linkedin or Accept the Facebook of the Fan page." Let me see you counter that, lad.
Without missing a beat, he said: "Accept the Fan page."
Little children know everything.
(Disclaimer: He hasn't heard of social networks, let alone the three popular names used here, and all he knows about the Internet is that it resides in his Mother's computer and she uses it to send her work to IM and others.)