My daughter’s conversation is filled with, “Heath says…” and “Heath thinks…” and I’ve gotta tell ya, every now and then it makes me want to bang my head against somethin’ big.
She’s not nuts. No staring, no screaming, no freaky stuff. She just insists that she talks to Heath Ledger. In her head, duh, not on the phone, because the guy’s dead. I saw the funeral on TV and cried a bit meself, cos he was a bit of a spunk. The crappiest movie seemed shinier with him in it. But that doesn’t mean I want him talking to my daughter in her head, eh?
Crap. Now I’m talking like I believe it.
But is that so bad, mate? I mean, she believes it, right? And what proof have I got that’d prove her wrong? Can’t give him a ring and ask, “Hey, Heath mate, you been chatting to me daughter, mate? Cos she thinks you are, and if you’re not, mate, then she’s round the twist with a splash of lime, mate. Wassat? You are? Grouse. Ta, mate. See ya – and hey, I loved Brokeback, even though me hubby wouldn’t have a bar of it!”
Maybe I’m nuts.