Chip chip cheerio

Jenny lives about 110 miles north of me. Yesterday afternoon we were on the phone and she was all OMG the wind!  About an hour later I looked up from my desk and out the window to see a big clump of leaves fly past and all the trees bending.  All night the wind blew, and this morning it’s still kicking up leaf piles and spinning pizza flyers down the street.

Yesterday when Sophie came home from school she had a story to tell me.  Background: whenever her class has a substitute teacher, she speaks with a British accent and tries to get the teacher to believe that she moved here from London.  She does a pretty good job, considering her age, though I’m guessing that most little Londoners don’t usually throw a Chip-chip-cheerio between every other sentence.  Yesterday they had a sub they’d had before, and she remembered Sophie from last year.  Didn’t you go to the royal wedding? she asked in front of the class.  Oh, yes, Soph told her.  My parents are friends with the royal family. 

Really?  What do your parents do? 

Well.  My father is a businessman, and my mother is a maiden.

A maiden?

Yes.  A maiden.  She cleans houses.

She said that her friends were laughing so hard they were crying, but I’m not convinced this story is true. 

Why did you tell them that I clean houses?
I asked her.

Because.  I have no idea what a maiden is.

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