Well, first, "Surprise, cute kid!" story. I don't normally blog much about my personal life, because I'm actually pretty boring, but it's worth mentioning that my girlfriend will be moving in with me in a little less than two weeks. (Which may cause me to miss a few blog posts. Can't be helped, there will be a lot to get organized and unpacked et cetera.) It's also worth mentioning that she has an utterly adorable four-year-old daughter who I'm very happy to be raising alongside my girlfriend. (You may now "awww" or "ewww", depending on your child-friendliness.)
I've been doing shuttle service for the Kidlet these last few months to and from preschool as we prepare for the move...and today, I had a conversation with her so utterly brain-destroying that my girlfriend absolutely insisted I share it here.
It started pretty normally...well, as normally as these car conversations ever go. She was asking me where Mister Sun was. (Heavy rains this morning, very overcast day.) I told her he was hiding behind the clouds. She said, "Oh, but I like Mister Sun!"
"Yesterday, you told me you didn't like Mister Sun because he was shining in your eyes," I said. "Are you being fickle?" (I like to toss in vocabulary words in conversation with little kids. If they don't pick it up, you can always clarify. If you do, they've learned a new word!)
...this was where things got weird. Her response was, "Fickelson!"
"Fickelson! You be Fickelson!"
"..." I'm not going to represent the full length of my confused pause here, but it was a good 'un. "...Phil Mickelson?" I said at last, a blind stab in the dark.
"Yeah! You have to be Phil Mickelson!"
"The Phil Mickelson who won the green jacket on Sunday?" I asked, not really sure if she was really talking about Phil Mickelson or just agreeing with what I said.
"Yeah! You have to be Phil Mickelson and wear the green jacket to play miniature golf!" (She has played miniature golf in the past. Obviously, Phil just plays a very large version of miniature golf.)
"Okay," I said, willing to go along with make-believe as usual. (I have, at various times, been John Lennon, Bubbles and Buttercup simultaneously, and on more than one occasion, "a bad guy".)
"Phil Mickelson?" she asked. Once I had confirmed my new identity, she said, "Why do you wear the green jacket?"
I replied, hoping to teach her a new fact for the day, "Because that's what you wear when you win at the Master's."
"NO!" she shouted, very angrily. "No! The Master does not get to play miniature golf! Because he will static you!" (Yes, she's seen 'The End of Time'. When she saw that scene, she got visibly upset and insisted that the Master had just given the Doctor "a BAD touch!")
At this point, I'm trying hard to keep the car under control, let alone the conversation. I placated her by telling her the Master would not be allowed to play miniature golf, and she happily went along explaining how I could wear my green jacket and she could wear her purple dress and we could be the Prince and Princess of miniature golf.
So there you go. Phil Mickelson and the Master, dueling it out in miniature golf for the fate of the universe. Call me, Steven Moffat!