I am about to crack open a bottle of white. I deserve it. Today has seen mopping, dusting, four loads of washing, washing-up, vacuuming, plant-spraying, toilet-cleaning, and general tidying. The reason for this uber-activity? Simple. Muffin's crictical friend was coming to play, and I was damned if I was going to get pulled up on cleanliness by a six year-old again. Though I dismissed the comments last time, deep-down they stung, and I was determined to do better this time. I think I succeeded. There were no refreshingly candid comments about how we live in filth, although equally he didn't say it was lovely and shiny either. I did fail on one item though, which was dinner. He didn't eat the sausages. He didn't eat them last time either, they were either too fat or too thin. Yes, a child that carries calipers in order to judge the edibility of sausages. I couldn't remember which it was, and didn't really care anyway, so plumped for fat.
I guess he likes chipolatas.
I guess he likes chipolatas.
"I only eat seeds with a maximum dimension of 3mm by 6mm. Got it?"
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