Breakfast at Barbie’s

The girls are in England and we’re getting bored at home.

My wife and the two girls are away for a couple of weeks, off to a wedding in England. That leaves me and my son to fend for ourselves in Argentina.

It’s quiet around the house.

We woke up the first day after their departure and sat down for breakfast. No wife/mother, no seven-year-old daughter/sister and no two-year-old daughter/sister. Just us and the dog. We could do as many loutish things as we wanted and blame the dog and not get told off. We laughed and did it again. And then ate our cereal. We could hear each other munching.

My five-year-old son then put down his spoon, got up and hurried out of the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with three Barbie dolls. He placed each in a chair and pushed the chairs in tight.

“There,” he said.

He sat down again and we resumed eating. The conversation with our “guests” wasn’t riveting or anything but it sure did feel more like our kitchen of always with a full table.

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