Bull Shit.

Saturday, 7 April 2012

Oh dear.  Thing One is in a permanent rush.  He sleeps fast, eats fast, runs fast, always in some ineffable one man race in life.

Whilst returning from the shops the other day I noticed his heel slipping in and out of his trainer as he'd undoubtedly, in a rush to get out of the house as always, shoved his feet into them neglecting to undo them and thus refasten them adequately.

The Husband is a wind-up merchant extraordinaire and casually mentioned that if you neglect to put your shoes on properly your feet will fall off.

Poor Thing One is the epitome of gullibility and looked aghast with terror and vowed to forever more ensure his shoes are on properly to prevent his feet falling off and even went so far as to thank us for letting him know.

Thing Two, bless her, thinking she was carrying out a public service dutifully informed her friend who then looked petrified as apparently her grandad never puts his shoes on properly.........

Me thinks The Husband will have some explaining to do...

You'd rather think Thing One would realise by now that The Husband is an absolute piss taker, especially as on the way to the shops The Husband had him believing that a lump of tarmac Thing One found was worth millions.  Oh the sheer wonder that lit up Thing One's eyes as you could virtually taste the exhilaration that coated the back of his throat.

& yet Thing Two at the grand age of 5 already has grown a bullshitometre, a vital pece of armoury if ever there was one in this madhouse.


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