The Failure of Language

Derrida?  Non, pas aujourd'hui.

Winton has deep circles under his eyes on this, his fourth day home with Granma.  I suspect they result from conversations like this:

W: Granma?
GM: Yes? [not looking up from the TV coverage of the royal wedding]
W: Granma, cream cheese.  [Meaning: I'd like an english muffin with cream cheese]
GM: Huh? [not looking up from the TV coverage of the royal wedding]
W: Cream cheese, Granma, Cream. Cheese.  Please?
GM: What? [not looking up from the TV coverage of the royal wedding]  I don't know what you're saying Winton.  You want peas?
W: [wailing]  No no no no.  Crmmmmm CHEESE!
GM: I'm sorry, honey.  I don't know what you want.  Do you have a poopy diaper?
W: [Falling face down onto his blue blanket, "Neh neh"] CREAM CHEESE [except through the blue fuzz it comes out "Grrmmm Thsss"]
GM: Let's ask your mother before she goes to work.
W: [Crying]