My two-year-old daughter only has one joke, but it’s a banger. She usually deploys it when I’m at my wit’s end – an alarmingly frequent condition – and it catches me off guard every time. I’ll be pouring pasta from pot to colander, or scrubbing Weetabix from a wall, and will look over to see her ambling towards me wearing my giant shoes on her absurdly small feet. In fact, since they’re high-tops, they come up well past her knees, causing both of us to laugh ourselves senseless.
It’s good she’s mastered comedy, because it leavens the more irascible aspects of her character. She doesn’t respond to the disciplinary strategies we used with her older brother, who was always placatable after a few warnings.
