We are in the restaurant, she is standing on the seat beside me. I'm tense, afraid of a crisis, a fall, a breakage of a task. My grandmother and my mother are in front of us, absorbed in the spectacle of the girl. The pancakes arrived, my daughter sits, she loves me relax. And then we talk, I tell a story of our vacation, the sting of a scorpion when it was known fatal fortunately escaped my husband. My daughter plays while chewing his pancake. At the end of the story, she takes it by changing the characters and places. Yes it is she who has been bitten, the scorpion was in her swimsuit, she had pain, she cried, she called her mom, her dad has tapped the beast with his shoe at it. She rolls her eyes to persuade us, nodded approval to our cries of horror simulated, so yes, terrible.
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