The other night I was brushing Bean’s teeth when she turned to me and said “So Tata was like, ‘are you upstairs?’ and I was like, ‘yeah, come on up!'” After the initial shock of her valley-girl-ness wore off I started mentally going through all the people she spends time with, trying to figure out where she could have heard that. Someone at preschool? The teen volunteers at Sunday School? Because surely she didn’t hear it at home. We speak ‘proper,’ intelligible, American English in our home.
Until… I was talking to hubby that night and I caught myself relating a conversation I’d had earlier. And. I. said. “she was like…” So that’s when it hit me. I do, in fact, talk like that. At least sometimes. The mirror of self-illumination was not my friend this weekend. So I need to fix my elocution before my kids start sounding like the characters from Beverly Hills 90210. ‘Cause, like, I’d be like so embarrassed if they, like, start talking like that… like, ya know?