Feething a Farthing from a Father

I haven't talked about my six-year-old, Mimi, for awhile.  She is the type of kid that is always in trouble (e.g., Li'l Orphan Annie, Dennis the Menace, Dakota Fanning).  A while ago she and I were having a heart-to-heart and she said, recognizing her propensity for naughtiness, "What if I grow up to be a robber?"

Hoping to help her understand that she sets her own destiny, I replied, "Do you want to be a robber?"

Her retort was cute and funny and alarming, "I'm not sure, maybe."

Then, last night, Buffy found a note written in Mimi's signature scrawl, what lay men call handwriting.  It read, "...I may be a feeth, but I don't care..." 

First question: what is a feeth?

Second question: is a feeth a theef?

Third question: is a theef a thief?

Fourth question: should I hide my wallet?

Answers: Probably.

Hopefully, a feeth is actually a dancer or a bowler or a dental assistant or a cake decorator or a professional wrestler or a farmer or a city slicker or a stock broker.  Wait! Not that last one.  Whatever the case we will keep our eyes on Mimi and our valuables in a safe place.



Rest of the story...

Mimi's real ambition is to be a professional violinist, so she'll probably have to be a feeth as well (bada bing!). 

As for the other children, Ike wants to be a mechanical engineer.  Kitty wants to be a mommy.  and Cubby or Corky or whatever I call him on this 'blog wants to be a real boy.