Whiffy

It rained all day yesterday. All day. The poor dogs were stuck in the house the whole time, minus about 15 minutes when I coaxed them outside to do their business in the yard rather than on the living room floor.

Sass overheard me talking to them -- as I always do -- after they had come back inside and I was drying the rain off their fur. "My, my, Miss Lucinda! You need a bath. That rain has made you kinda whiffy!" Apparently Sass had never heard me use that particular term before, whiffy, and she thought it was the funniest thing ever. All afternoon, she kept going to one dog or the other and saying, "Phew! You are so whiffy!"

The fascination with the word has carried over to a new day. This morning just after breakfast, Sass wandered over to the kitchen table (where, I admit, I was lingering ...) to show me a picture. When we leaned over it together, she said, "Ooh, Mama. Your breath? It's kinda whiffy."

Oh that child. She does wonders for my self-esteem.