My three year old could do that

This week, La Serpiente has been making art at school, as part of the three week long holiday programme. Today I went over to her school in a nauseating taxi, to pick up a huge bag of the things she had produced. As we headed over to her swimming lesson, she gabbled on to me about the peacock she had made from a ball of dough, and feathers, and a tail, and dough, and feathers, and a body, and feathers, and a tail, and…

We went to swimming, me labouring under a yoga mat, a pillow, two backpacks shaped like cartoon animals, an Ikea bag filled with the art my daughter had produced, a booster seat, and a child who wanted to be carried, and after half an hour of immersion we got another taxi back, just after La Serpiente burst into tears when I wouldn’t buy her a packet of nonsense food from the vending machine in the car park. That meant it was a little while before we returned home, and as we went through the artwork and congratulated her on her output, we found this rather phallic piece:

I wondered if I should put a note in our communication notebook with the school, asking what inspired this particular obscenity to be produced by our little one. It was only when our dear daughter told us we were holding it wrong (fnaar, fnaar) that we realised instead of being something quite rude, it was her best attempt at a ballerina:

A beautiful, dancing penis of a ballerina, but a ballerina nonetheless.

Next week it’s dancing, and I wonder if that will also involve some accidental filth on our daughter’s part. I’ll be sending my wife to traffic the scatological record of her education next week, while I lie at home on the sofa and eat jujubes.

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