"Cheers very much, Miss Cleo," Rhonda repeated, softly now, to match Cleo's own tone of voice. "I mean, it's fine, really; I'm sure I'd be nervous, too, after so bloody Long as I've been avoiding hosting anything myself... Anyway's - come on, Bumby, let's go see what's cooking, eh wot?" She giggled softly yes again, as Bumby, almost as if he was determined to play the Cute Card all bloody night, remarked, "But mommy- if it's cooking then why is Miss Cweo letting us eat it now...?"
"Come on, dearie, I think that Miss Cleo is done cooking for us, at any rate...!"
"But then - mommy - why do you say it's Cooking!?" Bumby demanded; instead of cracking up yet again at the kiddo's antics, she just made an effort to steer the boy towards the kitchen, to show ickle Jacky just what she meant by "what's cooking" - as in, with a crockpot, she hoped, at least... For she knew she'd never hear the end of it, if she did NOT find anything that was still on the heat... Or at least, until the end of the night - after which: he would hopefully forget her little slip of the idiom overnight...