You’re getting to an age now where life starts to get very confusing. Even more confusing than it was back when you were a baby, when you regularly got confused between your orifices, and tried to consume pureed butternut squash via your ear, and put sweet potato chips up your nose.
You’ll start to find yourselves facing a daily onslaught of opinions from friends and family and teachers and social media and advertising and celebrities and society in general about what’s important in life. About what you absolutely must do if you’re ever to make a success of yourself:
This is Mum.
Some days, Mum feels like she might be just about keeping on top of things.
And some days… Mum does not.
This is Mum.
Mum has reached the point where she can put off the horrid task no longer.
Mum has to buy a new pair of jeans.
It is Day 4762 (feels like) of the Easter holidays.
This is Biff.
This is Chip.
Biff and Chip are bored.
Biff and Chip have been bored since approximately fifty six seconds after school ended and the Easter holidays began.
Dear Postman Pat,
I am writing to inform you that you are required to attend a disciplinary hearing on Tuesday 3 April 2018. This hearing will be held at 11am in the back office of the Greendale Post Office.
I took receipt of my babies in 2007 and 2010 and this is my honest product review. I did not receive any payment or complimentary products in return for this review.
It was extremely difficult to get the baby out. I would recommend the packaging used is rethought as a matter of priority. More specifically, a packaging solution needs to be found which doesn’t render the purchaser in agonising pain, bleeding like a stuck pig for the next six weeks, and unable to sit down without the judicious use of a rubber ring and a stick to bite down on. Bubble wrap would probably be a more sensible packaging option.
It was the night before the primary school allocations came out.
Mum was a nervous wreck.
“I am a nervous wreck,” said Mum.
“Please,” said Chip. “Don’t try and suddenly feign an interest in our education. I was out of the house from 8am on Monday until 7pm on the Friday three weeks later, and all you had to say was ‘Did you have a nice day at school, dear?’ Where the fuck do you think we go to school? Mars?”
It was nearly Easter. The children were at school.
“We are going to put on a play,” said Mrs May.
“Oh god,” said Chip. “This never ends well.”
It was nearly the Easter holidays.
The children were being whingy little bastards.
“I hate you,” said Biff.
“No, I hate you,” said Chip.
“No, I hate you,” said Kipper.
Biff hit Chip. Chip scratched Kipper. Kipper weed on Biff’s leg.
“Shut the fuck up, you whingy little bastards,” said Mum.
Biff and Chip were at school.
“Today we are going to the swimming pool,” said Mrs May. “We are going to have a swimming lesson. Now that you have been having lessons for a whole term you should all be able to swim.”
“Hooray!” cheered the children.
“Oh fuck,” said Biff and Chip. Biff and Chip had not been having swimming lessons for a whole term. Biff and Chip hadn’t even made it to registration for the last seven weeks.