Eliot is 2, which means that in addition to her full-time work of dancing, shrieking, tormenting Moses and framing her sister as the source of poop-stink, she is also busy working to master her native tongue. And by that, I literally mean her tongue, because that thing just refuses to let her speak English.
Don’t get me wrong: I treasure a good malapropism, and Ellie’s vocabulary is practically restricted to them (pickles? “Tittles!” go shopping? “Stropping!”), but it’s so insidious and pervasive that WE’RE ALL starting to speak Eliotese.
Like today, in a routine stropping trip to Fred Meyer. The girls were in the cart, and we were wrapping things up, and a good damn thing because Eliot would not. stop. talking. about her monkeys, and her monkeys THIS, and her monkeys THAT, and finally I say, “Yeah, you know what we’re gonna do when we get home? We’re gonna get all your monkeys together and we’re gonna have a Monkey Party!”
This seems to appease her greatly, and the subject is dropped until we’re at the checkout and Miss Malaprop, who’s currently having troubles with her “M’s,” decides to revisit the conversation. Which goes exactly like this:
Eliot: “Junkie party!! Junkie party!!!”
Me: “That’s right, we’re gonna have a junkie party! And who gets to come?”
Me: “Yessir, ONLY JUNKIES ALLOWED…”
Ellie: “Junkies, junkies, YAAAAAYYY!!”
And with that, the checkout clerk verrrrrrrry slooowwwwly pushes our bags at us while discreetly activating the Fred-Meyer/DSHS silent alarm.