Yes

I’m a quite used to being ignored. Whether it be golf shirt clad account guys pounding away on their Blackberries while I pontificate or art directors doodling naked women on their sketch pads while I attempt to critique their work, it’s a good thing I enjoy the sound of my own voice so much.

And now I have the enjoyment of being ignored by my son. Which I assume will be the case for the next 20 or so odd years.

Last night, I arrived home at a decent hour to relieve Pam of her Elijah duties. I spotted Eli slinking down the stairs, naked of course. I grabbed him and forced him to kiss me hello and immediately peppered him with questions about school.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes.”

“Did you paint pictures?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see your friends?”

“Yes.”

I could tell Eli wasn’t listening to me and simply saying “yes” to everything I said to hasten me going upstairs to play trains. I noticed he had a big scratch at the end of his nose.

“Did you get an owie?”

“Yes.”

(Jokingly) “Did someone punch you?”

“Yes.”

“Really. Someone punched you.”

“Yes.”

“Was it one of your teachers?”

“Yes.”

“Your teacher punched you in the face.”

“Yes.”

“Did she smash you though a window?”

“Yes.”

“Did she run over you with a tugboat?”

“Yes.”

“Did she shoot you with her laser eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Did she sick her rabid goat on you?”

“Yes.”

“Did she invent a time machine and go back in time and punch you when you were one minute old?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to shut up and go play trains.”

“Yes.”