Our house is a war zone right now. Us (or actually just me) vs. the toys.
They are bloody everywhere, slowly creeping into every nook and cranny, claiming room after room for their own. In my shoes, in my bed, in my handbag, even in the freezer?!
If the situation was serious before, Christmas certainly didn’t help. Arriving home with a car that looked like the getaway vehicle in a Toys R Us smash and grab has lead to far too many storage solution related dreams #FML.
I was not prepared to take it lying down so there was only one thing for it – we needed a big clear out. The only thing in my way was a small, blonde, noisy thing but I reasoned that I could appeal to his better nature.
But, um, have you ever asked a child to help select a few of his old toys to give away?
Yep so altruism hasn’t really happened yet. Whatever, I just got stuck in anyway – he couldn’t still want all of the old broken sh*t right?
On the morning itself I rushed downstairs and to my extreme relief saw that he had been. It seems the repeated threats of ending up on the naughty list didn’t amount to much. MENTAL NOTE: Next year don’t let their ‘he’s always watching’ b*llocks influence your behaviour. Either he didn’t see me decorating mummy’s handbag with cat food or he doesn’t give a rats arse.
We were just friends but I started to realise that I didn’t enjoy things as much when he wasn’t there.
