The plumber is upstairs replacing the faucet in our kitchen sink, which has been dripping on and off for at least a year now. We seem to have enacted a general policy for home repair that involves thinking about it for a minimum of six months before taking action. In this case, I had been planning on fixing it myself, but have had trouble getting the old one off, as the screws were stripped. Finally, we decided to put in a call to the company that has previously fixed our leaky hot water heater and the very exciting exploding water pipe on the front porch. I had been expecting the older man who has responded to our previous calls for assistance. Instead I opened the door and found a 6�4� guy who could have stepped off the pages of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog (except he was, you know, wearing clothes). I am feeling most inadequate.

I had to shut Mrs. Stein in the laundry room, as she was insisting on sitting under the sink. She likes to be where the action is. She is now meowing piteously and every now and then I see a furry grey paw poking out from under the door, groping at invisible dust. Poor Mrs. Stein. Mr. Stein has quite sensibly curled up in front of the heating vent for a nap. He is not a troublemaker.

And of course I�ve had a spontaneous recollection of a Sesame Street sketch that I loved as a child, the one where a man rings the doorbell and a parrot inside screeches out, �Who is it?� He replies, �It�s the plumber. I�ve come to fix the sink.� This happens over and over again until the poor man passes out in frustration, whereupon the homeowner returns home and wonders, �Who is that poor man?� Whereupon the parrot replies, �It�s the plumber. He�s come to fix the sink.� I can�t tell you why exactly I found this so hilarious as a child, but it still makes me giggle just thinking about it.

AJ has become fascinated with parrots himself, of late. He likes to try to get the ones at the pet store to talk, although he always seems vaguely disappointed when they say something and it still sounds like parrot. I think he was expecting a full-fledged elocutionist. One of his favorite songs these days is one by Jim Gill, a local singer-songwriter for kids, entitled �The Parrot song.� The entire song consists of words spoken by Gill�s supposed parrot. It is, of course, sung in echo. It goes like this:

Hello. (Hello.)
I can fly. (I can fly.)
I�ll be right back. (I�ll be right back.)
Goodbye. (Goodbye.)
Chickens are friends. (Chickens are friends.)
Holy Toledo. (Holy Toledo.)
Birdies Unite! (Birdies Unite!)
Thanks a lot. (Thanks a lot.)
With Gilligan. (With Gilligan.)
The Skipper too. (The Skipper too.)
What a good bird! (What a good bird!)
I love you. (I love you.)

As a result of repeated listenings to this song (and by repeated, I mean at least three times a day for the last three months), AJ has taken to exclaiming �Holy Toledo!� at odd moments. Add this too �I like your moxie!� already in his vocabulary, he�s starting to sound like he walked out of a 1940s musical.

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