Ewwwww

Ewwww has entered the vocabulary of Miss C.
It made it's debut a few weeks ago, and it's frequency is pretty amusing.
Picked up from erudite peers, it's used on just about everything.
"Ewww, a worm," (as she picks it up and then cradles it to her neck).
"Ewww, rice and peas," (as she takes a mouthful).
Sometimes it's in context, but sometimes she's just thrilled to say it.
Reminds me of when I learned about Jinx Personal Jinx and used it on everything.
Because it was fun to say.

This weekend Dave and C and I went hiking in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, and on our drive back today, we stopped at a diner for coffee and sandwiches.  As a waitress made her way past us, Miss C pointed to something on the platter she carried and said, "Ewww, I don't like that food."  Then she watched as the waitress placed the plate in front of a customer, and I saw her lips make that motion as though she were about to do another round, a louder one, of ewwww, a round that would bellow through the diner and bounce off the walls, knocking us all over onto our plastic covered seats. A quick chat ensued: "Okay, that's enough ewww."

C:  "Why?  I like to say ewww."

Me:  "I know you do.  But, it's not polite to point at other people's food and say it."

C:  "Why not?"

Me:  "Because that's what they've chosen to eat, because they like it.  You don't have to eat it, you can eat what you like."

C:  "But what can I say?"

Me:  "You don't have to say anything."

C:  "But I like to say something."

Me:  "Well, you could say, 'That's interesting.'"

C (practicing):  "That's intresting." 

My tomato and guacamole sandwich arrived, with corn chowder, and C took a look, and said, "That's intresting."

Me:  "Sure is.  It's delicious, would you like a taste?"  She tasted the soup.

C:  "But, when can I say ewww?"

Me:  "You can say it about pretty much anything, just not about other people, the way they look, or the food they eat, that kind of thing."

We finished our meal, and made pit-stop before getting back in the car.

I waited in the hallway as C finished up in the bathroom.  The wall was covered with photographs of local diner patrons, in football uniforms, hunting jackets, and one shot of a large man with an enormous amount of chest hair wearing a cheer skirt and top, holding poms.  His mouth was smeared with lipstick and his leg kicked up as if in mid-jump.  There was another photo of an actual cheerleader, a teenage girl, standing between her parents.  She was wearing her blue uniform, matching blue eyeshadow, and blue glitter all over her face.

Miss C finally emerged, and drawn to the wall as was I, she pointed to the cheerleader and squealed, "A clown!  Look at her, look at the clown!"
I took her hand and moved her down the hall toward the car as she pointed at each photo and made comments in rapid succession.
She pulled her body to a halt in front of the cheering man with smeared lipstick.
"Well look at that clown!"  She stared in awe.  "That is so intresting."