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witticasterLike you thought I wouldn't start writing an elaborate world of Singin' in the Rain nextgen fanfic. Set in 1937, three of their eventual four children have shown up, and one of them stars here. Rose attempts to turn her father and uncle into proper jump-ropers.
"No, that's not how you do it at all." Rose's despair at teaching her father and Uncle Cosmo to jump rope properly was beginning to show on her face. Every time they seemed to be getting anywhere, one of them would interpret "Spanish dancer, do a kick" as an opportunity to start dancing, and the other would rapidly follow suit. "You don't actually dance, you just put your foot up a little. Otherwise, you'll mess up." She put her hands on her hips and gave the two of them a rather pointed look for a seven year old.
"Maybe we're just no good at this stuff, Rosie," Don finally said, scratching his head. "Your mother'd be better at it."
"But Ma's not home, and Herbie won't play. He says jump-rope's for girls, Daddy."
"We could invite some of your school friends over for the afternoon," he offered. "If you want to telephone Donna and Peggy..."
"But I wanna play with you." Her lower lip was threatening to pop out into a full-on pout. Don wasn't sure what he'd do if she ever came to the point of crying, especially over a jump-rope game gone awry; Rose always seemed to threaten to without ever quite making it there.
"Now, see here, the poor thing's outnumbered," Cosmo declared, having just untangled the wayward rope from around his ankles. Springing to his feet, he proffered the jump-rope with a small bow, and Rose took it from his hands, still frowning. "Too many boys! You--me--her very own twin--my namesake!" He dropped to his knees, clutching his hands to his breast. "It's too much for one little girl to bear." He paused for a beat, then stood back up again, brushed himself off, and finished, less dramatically, "We have to face the music and stop dancing, Don."
"Are we men or are we mice?" Don added dryly. "All right. Show us again, Rosie, and we'll try and keep our feet from wandering off this time."
She considered, as shrewdly eagle-eyed in that moment as Don's mother-in-law, but finally relented with a gap-toothed smile. "Okay. The rhyme goes 'Charlie Chaplin went to France to teach the ladies how to dance...'"
"No, that's not how you do it at all." Rose's despair at teaching her father and Uncle Cosmo to jump rope properly was beginning to show on her face. Every time they seemed to be getting anywhere, one of them would interpret "Spanish dancer, do a kick" as an opportunity to start dancing, and the other would rapidly follow suit. "You don't actually dance, you just put your foot up a little. Otherwise, you'll mess up." She put her hands on her hips and gave the two of them a rather pointed look for a seven year old.
"Maybe we're just no good at this stuff, Rosie," Don finally said, scratching his head. "Your mother'd be better at it."
"But Ma's not home, and Herbie won't play. He says jump-rope's for girls, Daddy."
"We could invite some of your school friends over for the afternoon," he offered. "If you want to telephone Donna and Peggy..."
"But I wanna play with you." Her lower lip was threatening to pop out into a full-on pout. Don wasn't sure what he'd do if she ever came to the point of crying, especially over a jump-rope game gone awry; Rose always seemed to threaten to without ever quite making it there.
"Now, see here, the poor thing's outnumbered," Cosmo declared, having just untangled the wayward rope from around his ankles. Springing to his feet, he proffered the jump-rope with a small bow, and Rose took it from his hands, still frowning. "Too many boys! You--me--her very own twin--my namesake!" He dropped to his knees, clutching his hands to his breast. "It's too much for one little girl to bear." He paused for a beat, then stood back up again, brushed himself off, and finished, less dramatically, "We have to face the music and stop dancing, Don."
"Are we men or are we mice?" Don added dryly. "All right. Show us again, Rosie, and we'll try and keep our feet from wandering off this time."
She considered, as shrewdly eagle-eyed in that moment as Don's mother-in-law, but finally relented with a gap-toothed smile. "Okay. The rhyme goes 'Charlie Chaplin went to France to teach the ladies how to dance...'"
