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Jul 25

The Dinkle Factor

Posted on Saturday, July 25, 2009 in Family

I love school holidays, because it allows me to be anti-social.  I can stay up as late as I like playing with my hero alter-ego on Fable II, and don’t have to face parental small-talk the next morning.  I can waste hours doing jigsaws with Puppychild or glueing cut-out felt or making home-made play-dough and not have to talk to another soul.  This to me is heaven, but ultimately a bad thing.  Sometimes it’s good to get out there and do something, if only for the feeling that something has been done.

But what can one do when one is smashed and relying on the contents of the penny-jar?

Thankfully, if there’s anything cheap in Dublin City, it’s culture.  Puppychild and I embarked on a Dart adventure today into Merrion Square to see the National Art Gallery… something I remember my Grandmother doing with me when I was a kid, something that really stuck in my mind.  There are discoveries to be made, such as the fact that it’s sometimes okay to colour outside the line, that a cluster of dots often only make sense when you stand a few steps away from them, and that the most important colour for the conveyance of mood is white, or the absence thereof.  Even the experience of people-watching in that gallery can be an eye-opener in itself.

Puppychild will not, however, remember any of this.

The highlight of her trip (apart from riding on the train), was the dinkle factor.

Apart from all the naked cherubs hanging around the place, there was the very large Da Vinci-esque statue of a bloke in the centre of the second floor.

“Look Mommy!!!  He’s a boy!  He has a dinkle!”

“Yes pickle-pants.  Yes he does.”

“Touch the dinkle Mommy!” (in her typically attention grabbing loud voice)

Several people stopped viewing artwork and turned to watch.  I did not touch the dinkle.  I turned instead to search for Caravaggio.

“Mommy!!!  Come back and lift me up so I can touch the dinkle!”

Uh Oh.

She’s at that age.  Secret curious rendezvous’ in school toilets and closed hallways, in remote fields and behind closed kitchen doors.  Small boys and girls dropping their drawers for mutual investigations.  I did it.  I remember the dinkle factor well.  I bet you did it too.

There’s nothing I can do about it other than dish out cringe worthy and most definitely unwanted advice with a side-helping of prophylactic.  I’d forgotten that it started so young though.  The dinkle factor.  We’re all slaves.


Bring on the comments

  1. The Dinkle.


    Is this something she has heard at HeadRambles manor?

  2. Granny says:

    She will remember! I remember your late Auntie Mary taking me to birthday party, I was only three,the memory comes back time and time again, being shy and sick with excitement. We played Doctors and nurses too, in the fields at the back of our houses.

  3. Baino says:

    I can honestly say that I never went through the ‘dinkle’ factor. Perhaps having less than modest brothers helped! I often wonder though if all the excursions my two had when they were young were memorable. I’m sure they had something to do with the way they turned out but they can’t remember much at all!

  4. jen says:

    hilarous…….I think you should have touched it though!

  5. K8 says:

    Sixty; I think it came from our neighbour, I overheard her explaining to puppychild one day why the cows next door were actually bulls, and it wasn’t because of the colour of their wellies.

    Granny; Childhood memories are so random, there’s no knowing what gets absorbed really.

    Baino; I think there are some things even a mother doesn’t want to know.

    Jen; I would have, but there was a stern looking guard staring me out of it, who had already given out to me for touching a Picasso frame (it was so pretty!) so I thought it best not to lest we be turfed out.

  6. Kirk M says:

    How I love kids. Wish I had had some.

    Of course I had to take a different approach to the dinkle factor (typical of me). My mother told me once (and various friends sevral times) that when I was a very early single-digit-midget they had bought me one of those small wooden training pottys with the removable plastic bucket. It even had a wooden lid that closed like a real toilet. I guess I was rather taken with this fancy new infant amenity. So much so that I came traipsing out to the living amongst “company” one time swinging my new bathroom device about and crying out at the top of my voice; “new potty!, new potty!”.

    I don’t believe I gave them a demonstration though, at least not to what my mother would admit to.

  7. Kate says:

    Oh bless her!! And she’s got years and years before she’ll ‘grow out of it’…….

  8. Jennifer says:

    Puppychild is brilliant!
    I’ve never heard it called a dinklebefore but I can add it to the long list of names.

  9. The word Dinkle and that picture had me laughing out loud with my family thinking I was a perv…” What are You lookin’at??”
    “Oh , just a funny pussy ridin’ a cock…ummm i mean…well heh heh, ok getting off the net now” LOL Great post

  10. I don’t think if I’ve ever even heard the word ‘dinkle’ before! I used to work with a child who called the female equivalent a ‘floozy’ which used to really make me laugh. She talked about it a lot because she was prone to cystitis!

  11. K8 says:

    Kirk M; Kids at parties – the perfect ice-breaker!!! Also a guaranteed way to make your function remembered :)

    Kate; If ever at all!

    Jennifer; It’s good because it’s easier to rhyme than the others for dirty limerick purposes.

    King of NY hacks; That was the hardest (hehe) image to google ever.

    Jenny; Haha! There’s nothing better for a doozy floozy than a jaccuzzi.

  12. holemaster says:

    My mother called it a soshue. No idea where that came from. Did the doctors and nurses thing too. All natural healthy stuff.

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