I swear that next time I buy a new hose to water the garden I shall purchase one that promotes itself thusly: ‘guaranteed to kink all the time.’ I am heartily sick of having a non-functioning sprinkler system. [translation = water garden by hand for an hour and a half very late at night or very early in the morning, with a kinky hose]

Junior stands cautiously in the door jam, not really in, but definitely not out. [translation = dislikes ‘outside’ with a passion] The large cardboard label from the new hose, together with it’s plastic ties, lie nearby waiting to be recycled. I fight with the recalcitrant hose and ignore my son. [translation = whilst ignoring a child, let alone an autistic one, is not to be encouraged, if I attempt to llure him to adopt ‘out of the house’ status, I’ll jinx my chances]
“What it is?”
“What is what dear?”
“Er, dah ‘kink.’?”
“Ah. Very pertinent question. A ‘kink’ is a fold or a bend. See this lovely new hose?”
“Yes it is dah lovely red and red is being your favourite colour!” [translation = whoop de do, he knows what I like!]
“Yes, you’re right again! But do you see this bit, the bent bit, that is a kink.”

He steps from side to side in agitation, much as small children do when they need to visit the bathroom.
“Kinky! Kinky! Kinky! I am liking dat word ever so much.”
“Ah yes, of course you do.” [Translation = a word with two ‘k’s is special]
“Why it is saying dat den?”
“Why is who saying what dear?”
“It say not.”
“What not?”
“No! Not what not, not kink!”
“Oh the label. Yes, you’re right again, it does say ‘no kinks, not ever, guaranteed.’”
“But you said dat dah hose is being having dah kink and dah label saying it not.”

I pause, not wishing to provoke a meltdown at the contradictory nature between advertising and real life.
“Well…….as you can see……..they lied!”
“Lied!”
“Yes.”
“Dey go to jail?” I sincerely hope so.
“No it’s not bad enough for jail.”
“What is bad enough for jail?” Questions, questions, questions, all of which are little trip wires for the unwary, ‘jail,’ being just one of them. This of course, is why the Monopoly board ended up in the recycling, as well as the box, because both had a ‘Go to Jail’ notification, which haunted the poor child to a point of distraction. I am rapidly running out of ideas when another face appears at the door. A rescuer?
“There’s a knot at the other end, that’s why it’s not working,” my daughter offers as a diagnoses.
“A not’?” he queries.
“No, not a ‘not,’ a ‘knot’, the ‘k’ kind of a knot,” she explains. I feel that I am slipping into a crossword, or is that just cross? I look from one to the other to check the invisible lines of communication. [translation = who is going to lose it first?]
“He is not a liar den,” he states boldly.
“Who is not a liar dear?”
“The hose makers. Dey say ‘not kinks,’ dey didn’t say ‘no knots.’”

Works for me. [translation = meltdown avoided, cognitive dissonance abated]

Would that things could always be so “smooth.”