Today I drove a four hour round trip to pick up a pair of Ebay stools that were listed as having ‘some light rust.’ Unfortunately the lister forgot to specify that the light rust was merely a top-coat addition to the ‘base rust.’ Also they are too short, which I can only blame on my measurement guesswork, dammit.
I thought I was prepared for the mission. Snack packs, toy catalogues and Mary Poppins soundtrack for the outbound trip. Prepared for, but hoping not to resort to caffeine, Nurofen Plus and McDonalds on the way home.
Forty-five minutes in, Teddy started to throw up. After I had fed him cheese and prunes, what’s more. On the freeway. Then we got lost, and please, I can’t relive the rest. You can imagine. Tonight, he seems better; at least he managed a full afternoon of steady, thoughtful destruction and then told me ‘Mama, I want eat poo-bum all day.’
Buddies, set me straight. Why the cuss am I thinking about adding another baby to this party? I’m ninety six fricken years old! Keiths sperm will need a walking frame and my eggs will probably get a discount onto the Fallopian tubes when they show their Seniors Card.
Plus, what if it wants eat poo-bum all day?