Flush with new vocab care of US

Opinion: Miss Six has returned from her United States sojourn and I am so pleased to have her home. So happy was I, it was all sunshine and flowers for a while in our household.

You want to leave your clothes dumped on the bedroom floor? Feel free. Another biscuit? Of course. What’s that? You want to bring all your dolls into the lounge and leave them there for three days straight, why of course my darling poppet!

I think it was after the third time I had stood on Barbie’s head that my patience began to wear thin.

A Miss Six size hurricane had tore through the house, liberally sprinkling toys and assorted Disney World goodies in its wake.

‘‘Please put that in the rubbish,’’ I instruct Miss Six who peers at me blankly.’’ She doesn’t move. ‘‘Put it in the bin,’’ I say again, pointing at a crumpled brown bag. Her little brow furrows as if I’d just asked her the meaning of life.

Quelling the temptation to stamp my feet I asked one more time. ‘‘Oh,’’ she exclaimed, ‘‘you mean the trash!’’

Later that day I find Miss Six in the toilet patting down the cistern like it might be carrying a concealed weapon. ‘‘what are you doing?’’ I ask, not really sure if I actually want to know.

‘‘Wheres the flush gone?’’ She appears quite flummoxed. ‘‘Err, on the top, where it’s always been.’’ I see recognition dawn as she tells me that in America you have handles on the side of the toilet. ‘‘I forgot,’’ she laughs before telling me about a toilet that even flushed itself. I hope this wasn’t the highlight of her trip.

Dinner time arrives and I ask Miss Six what she might like. ‘‘A personal pepperoni pizza’’ she pipes up. A what? ‘‘You know, one you get to have just for yourself.’’ Turns out this how your order it in America. Right. I break it to her that we will be sharing.

‘‘Gee,’’ she tells me, ‘‘that’s a shame.’’