Of discs and the disco

The Mamma bought the brat a Ben 10 watch, one he had been whining on about in that infernal way that commands either a tight slap or absolute going to the next room, floor, planet kind of ignorance of the issue being whined about. And the brat is a whiner non pareil much to Mamma's disgust and shame, she who always crinkled her nose delicately in her pre brat days when confronted with a whining kid, has now been double whammied by a brat who can whine till the cows come home and finish masticating the cud from all four stomachs. Coming back to the above mentioned Ben 10 watch, the brat is under the delirious presumption that wearing said watch will automatically transform him at the push of a button to one of the many fantastical creatures that populate the Ben 10 universe. Much to Mamma's horror. Given that the Ben 10 universe comprises immensely ugly retch inducing creatures like Four Arms, Upgrade, Ghost Freak, Diamond Head, Rip Jaws, Heatblast, Grey Matter and some more whom I forget. Ah for those pleasant days of my adolescence when I salivated not entirely innocently over He Man action figures. Fuelled no doubt by the sugar fix of the Mills and Boons I read on the sly, away from the mother's questioning gaze.
Coming back to whining brat and Ben 10 watch, the original I saw in the shops for an obscene amount that didnt justify it being a toy, and could have well enough bought an adult a decent wearable watch from some of the simple no fancy label brands. And then, when floating in the dingy recesses of the wholesale market yesterday to put together the infinite samaan required for the Ganapati puja coming up next week, I spotted a wholesale toy shop. With a packet of said Ben 10 watch, China make of course, for Rs 50. So I picked it up and reached home to be greeted with squeals of delight and much gratification as a five year old who takes gifts and toys as his birthright decreed by the entire pantheon of Gods across religions can muster up, which translates into put it on right now excitement and tearing off packaging with unseemly haste resulting in much trash all over the floor, and a yelling Mamma insisting that he "will take the torn packaging to the dustbin right now, or the Ben 10 watch will be given away to the neighbour."
All these niceties dealt with, the watch was worn and the diskettes with the retch inducing figures inserted, and turned perfectly to cast said shimmering figures on the darkened wall of the room. The brat then turns to me and holds up one said diskette and asks in all seriousness. "Mamma what calls this?"
Mamma, linguistic gymnast, translates the query into understandable language. "This is called a diskette."
Brat looks at her and with one rapid dramatic gesture which instantly informs Mamma that too much saas bahu serial watching has been happening in the company of both grandmothers, smites said forehead. "No Mamma, not diskette. What means diskette? Say properly. Disc-o-theque."
And adds helpfully.
"Where you go to do dancing."
Mamma looks askance wondering how the corruptions of the modern world have infiltrated through the cocooned existence she's wrapped the brat in.
"This is only a circle. Round. See??"