The Whistler

There was a time when I really encouraged Chloe to try whistling. Being the perfectionist that she is (wonder from whom she inherited that trait?) she practiced and practiced until the first chirping sounds came out of her mouth – about two years ago.

Once she mastered the art, she didn’t whistle so much for awhile. Until about a week ago. When she rediscovered her hard-earned talent. Ever since, I’ve wanted to tape her mouth shut.

She doesn’t stop. She whistles everywhere. And at extremely inopportune times. Like when I’m talking to someone, either in person or on the phone. Or when I’m trying to discipline her…about whistling! The worst part of the whistling, however, isn’t so much the timing of it. It’s the tone. It’s this horrible high-pitched warbling that’s fit for a dog but not a human being.

While at dinner tonight, Chloe was trying to play “Name That Tune” with us. It was painful. First, it was “Frere Jacques,” which I understandably confused with “Where is Thumbkin?” Then it was a completely unrecognizable version of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

We were saved from further eardrum-bursting squealing by the waitress, who came at just the right moment to take our order. Her propitious timing was about the only thing she did right during the meal, but her getting Chloe to shut up was more than enough to guarantee her a 20% tip.

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