I asked after the parents of the house, and confirmed they were indeed on their way out. I pulled up a seat for a quick chatsky. I am so glad I did - because I became party to the following series of events...
The twin boys were furiously scrawling pictures in felt on A4 sheets of computer paper, giggling between sticking their tongues to their mouth corners.
Tweedle-dee slid his picture across the table to lay it in front of the babysitter; "That's your brother!" He then clenched his fists and scrunched his eyelids as he laughed and laughed. Tweedle-dum followed suit, laughing and laughing.
I leaned over to see what he'd drawn that was such an entertaining insult. What is your babysitter's brother, boys?
I'm not the best artist, but I think I've done a pretty good job of reproducing it for you here.
Or a cyclops.
Or a human who's been disfigured so as to lose all facial features bar a giant wart.
How could she not see that?
Then, Tweedle-dum pulled himself together, shielded his page with his arm, and hastily worked the pen. He cast his page across the table at the babysitter and cried, "No, (gasp), no...THIS is your brother!" (the slide is on the "this"). The twins laughed louder, and harder.
I examined his drawing. As I'd hoped, he added clarity to what this pair were trying to communicate;
Or not.
What say you?


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