Youngest returns from the hairdressers with long extensions. “Very nice,” I say, then realise something more effusive about her new, and no doubt expensive, do is needed.
So I check with her what the up-to-date terminology is on the street, obviously no longer the ‘hood, as there’s nothing worse than trying to be down with the kids and getting it wrong – a bit like that woman catfishing her son on The Circle with her cringey ‘bruvs’ and hashtags, although respect to her for being a laugh – if anyone says ‘respect’ any more.
Or like my friend who spent months telling casual enquirers that he was looking forward to staying in to ‘Netflix and chill’ alone that night, clueless that it was a euphemism, despite his teenage son’s shuddering with embarrassment every time he said it. Not enough embarrassment to put him straight, however, where’s the fun in that? It was even worse when my pal took the raised eyebrows he had elicited with his honest response about his evening’s activities as interest and extended invitations to join him. I had to tell him in the end. Eventually.
“What’s the latest word for wicked,” I ask Youngest, “cos no-one says that any more do they?”
“You can say amazing,” she says.
“That’s not very new sounding. So good things aren’t ‘sick’ any more?”
“No. You can say fantastic.”
“Fantastic! This is rubbish. Everyone’s been saying amazing and fantastic 4EVA. Haven’t you got anything new?”
“Smashing,” says Middle. “Smashing’s a good one.”
Amazing, fantastic, smashing. I feel like I’ve wandered into a retirement home for 1970s DJS.
“Yes,” says Youngest, “Or if something’s really, really good, there’s fandabidozi.”
“What? That’s Wee Jimmy Krankie,” I say.
“Never heard of him,” she says.
“Her,” I say.
“Them,” she corrects.
“Fandabidozi, are you sure? But I say that sometimes.”
“Yes you do. Fandabidozi, that’s OK,” she says.
Well, that’s just smashing, even better it’s fandabidozi – unless she’s bluffing, which would just be wicked.