tu veux jouer?

My father built my sister and I a life size dollhouse. Colour ruled it. And my mother let my sister and I draw all over the kitchen wall in order for us to exercise and practice our artistic talents. We drew all over it. When guests visited and asked my mother, “Are you crazy? How could you let your children draw on the wall like this?” She would simply reply, “Well at least now I know they are talented!”
She was an artist, my mama. I know this because once after she had a big fight with my father she told us she needed time to think so she locked herself in room for four hours while my father and I waited downstairs anticipating the speech that she was coming up with while thinking. When she was done thinking, she came out of the room, looked at my father and said nothing, so he said:
“Well?”
So she replied:
“I’m an art and you’re a fart.” And that is how I knew she was an artist. My dad stared at her for a while with a look of astonishment on his face. I think, like me, he must have been really impressed.
She stopped painting after my third sister was born. But she was never the less an artist and she still is. She just practices her art in a different way. For example now instead of painting colours on paper she uses colourful language on people.
If we consider humanity like a cake, my mother is an interesting slice. She looks very tasty and she tastes very tasty. But you can only have small teaspoons at a time because if you take a big bite, you’ll get a really bad stomach-ache. I know this because when I spend too much time with her I get a really bad headache.