Broken Record

Emma has been jibber-jabbing something all afternoon. It was the same thing over and over.

“Cest Belle, my Belle, oui, I love Juice. Something, something, something.”

She is singing it. It’s cute but it is getting a bit annoying…

I just about said, “You sound like a broken record.” Until I realized that she wouldn’t have the faintest idea what that meant. Then I thought, “…like a scratched CD”, but quickly nixed that for being before her time too.

“…like an .mp3 stuck on repeat?”

Sigh.

I feel old.