I am troubled by the notion of reality. So too is Millie. Though, one would hope, in vastly different ways, given the age gap, and the fact that I do not demand that my toy monkey is lightly chilled in the freezer compartment before I drink my milk.
This week Millie is somewhat taken with the notion of invisibility i.e.
Millie: Mummy do you believe in invisible?
Me: No. Except for the air. That is invisible.
Millie: And fart.
Me: Yes. Fart is invisible.
Millie: And my pants.
Me: No. Your pants are not invisible. You are just not wearing any.
Millie: But I am.
Me: You are not.
Millie: I absolutely promise I am wearing invisible pants, Mummy.
Me (attempting to change subject whilst wrestling pants onto child): Oh look. There is a fox.
Millie: Foxes are not real.
You get the point. The thing is, does it matter about the pants and foxes? Does it matter that she thinks Barack Obama and Zac Efron live together? I mean, I still believe that, one day, I will win the Grand National, possibly disguised as a boy. Or do a competition standard merengue with Patrick Swayze before joining the Peace Corps. No one puts me in a corner…