Vivid Descriptions

Here's proof positive that we unlearn how to describe things clearly as we age.

Lego Club met yesterday -- that's the forum in which our boy gets to dictate to one of his parents what he or she will build by theme (small vehicles, spacecraft, and robots are just a few of the categories). We were working on security guard stuff during this particular session, and I had been instructed to create "a station the security guards could use for relaxing."

I don't know about you, but when I want to relax, there's usually coffee or tea involved. Thus, I immediately began making the security guards a cozy kitchen with a nice, long table at which they could sit and kvetch between shifts.

The Lego Club director disapproved. "They don't need a table like that, Mama," he told me.

"They don't?" I asked.

"No," he said. "If they need a table at all, it would be just a little Oprah table."

"Oprah table?" I asked. "What's that like?"

"It's just a little table, maybe with some flowers on it sort of toward the front, and it's by some chairs," he said. "It's for sort of like a meeting."

"Where did you see that?" I asked. "On Oprah?"

"Yes," he said.

"And the meeting?" I asked.

"It's usually two women," he said.

Of course it is.