Tadpole is sitting on my knee, stabbing at the keyboard, attempting to type her name. Her efforts are fairly impressive, when you take into account the fact that I am simultaneously tickling her ribs:
Master of shortcut key combinations of which I do not even suspect the existence (she toggled my keyboard into thinking it was English the other day and it took the longest time to figure out how to make it French again), she abruptly closes the word processor window. A backgrounded firefox window is unveiled, revealing a motley assortment of meetic members currently online.
Today we have:
- Monsieur Clope au Bec, puffing on his gaulloise, face obscured by a cloud of smoke, the mere sight of which makes me wrinkle my nose in distaste.
- Monsieur Pectoraux, who is probably too busy working out to have a love life, and looks like he is in need of a long shower. I am starting to feel relieved that scratch and sniff profiles have not yet seen the light of day.
- Mr Infidèle, who has opted for a badly cropped photograph of himself with his current wife/girlfriend, her cheek pressed against his, her arm draped across his shoulder.
Tadpole is looking intently at the screen, although it’s hard to say what has grabbed her attention. I suspect it may be the attractive fluffy dolphin posing alongside Mr Shiny Shellsuit.
“Mummy, how do you say chenille in English?” Tadpole asks, a little randomly.
“It’s caterpillar, darling,” I reply, “like in the book about the very hungry caterpillar.”
Tadpole nods, then points at the screen. “Why that man have a very hungry caterpillar crawling on his chin?”
I giggle. It does indeed look very much like a furry caterpillar has lost its way.
“Maybe it’s his pet caterpillar?” I suggest. I point at a Rod Stewart look-alike with an impressive mullet, hugging a labrador: “look, that man is in the picture with his pet animal too…”
Surfing once Tadpole is safely tucked up in bed, I realise that the unsightly facial caterpillar phenomenon is more widespread than I had initially realised. They are everywhere I click. The worst are those which steal upon me unawares, when I select the profile of an attractive looking gentleman, then note with dismay that all the other photos he has included are overrun with lepidoptera larvae.
As you may have gathered, meetic isn’t exactly working for me, thus far.