As I have mentioned before, the young child loves all things electronic and gadget-y. Phones, fax machines (seriously. My mom has one of these. I thought they were all in the Smithsonian- but no!), remote controls and naturally, Blackberries. Mike just recently got his first (a proud day for me) and now V can compare and contrast the feature array and screen resolutions of the Curve vs. the first generation Bold. Recently she absconded with Mike’s phone only to return it bearing the following message in the call screen…
“She typed ‘Opoopo’,” Mike said and handed me the phone. I roared. “OPOOPO!!!”
But …who IS this O’poo’po … witchdoctor, shapeshifter, Irish coprophage? I am having lots more fun with this whole Opoopo thing than Mike, and certainly more than Virginia, whose intention was most likely to push whatever amount and order of keys would produce a picture of a dog or baby.
Now I use Opoopo as a threat like, “Put on your sweater Virginia- Opoopo doesn’t have time for cold babies who are inadequately dressed.” – or negatively – “Virginia, you better stop whining or I’ll tell Opoopo alllll about it. (AND YOU KNOW HOW HE GETS!)
She could really care less about what Opoopo thinks though, so I guess this is where the dream dies.