We've had this thing in Monkey Boy's bedroom for a year with no incidents. We brought it downstairs last week to return it but missed training due to Thuglet's floppiness and hot water bottle impersonations. We had also not taken a picture of it with the football superstar in his gear - so that had to be quickly rectified. Bit cross it's taken me a year to do that. I bet he looks so different from a year ago when we should have done the photos. Well, I'm sure there is a picture of him receiving the bloody thing but as there were no announcements at last year's ceremony I didn't have a clue it was happening until he came running over to me by the bouncy bleedin' castle carrying it and yelling 'Look what I got!' I'd been not so patiently waiting for that damned part of the day with 2 loony younger brothers going *boing boing splatt aaaahhhhhh boing boing splatt aaaaahhhh* for 'kin hours in full sun on the only hot day of last summer. The picture that must exist would have been taken by the village's vampire psycho slut pretending to be a professional photographer. I shall not be handing money to that shit-for-brains for a picture of my boy.
At least by missing the whole awards thing (and the whole point of being stuck in that friggin' 'family fun day' in that godforsaken village of hell) I did avoid having to share breathing space with her. And now, just to add to those golden memories, (and that looming sinking feeling of another perfectly delightful Sunday in June spent in the same soul-scrunching way), I have now laid eyes on this fucking chip in the granite-y base of the bloody THING. I can hardly just hand it over in a brown paper bag and run away. His name's engraved on it - albeit misspelled. And that's another thing.....!!!!!!
Oh I don't know.... I'm no lover of this Saturday morning team. Not so much the people involved - the other mums and dads particularly (the usual stalwarts) are great. It's just that it all happens in the village of hell. The most claustrophobic smug up-its-own-arse irritating bloody village on the planet. With its very own species of mud. The place must have been founded on a bog for gods' sake. And, obviously, it is home to the viper bitch. This alone is reason enough to raze it to the ground. My eyes automatically narrow to cartoon villain slits even driving through the place - which I have to do on Friday's as well as bloody Saturdays.
I don't want to go to training tomorrow. I don't see why they still have to play football when the football season is well and truly over. I don't see why we have to spend so many weekends at bloody football tournaments anyway - especially as the team is crap and usually loses despite all the players being quite good. I don't want to go to another 'fun' awards day when I could be extracting my fingernails instead (infinitely preferable). And I don't want to be told off for breaking the fucking trophy. I just want to burn the whole place down instead. Could I? Come on - who'd miss it?
OK. Rant over. I'll put my toys back in my pram and dig out some black paint and superglue. It's a bit like taking the school hamster home for the holidays and discovering it's lost a leg. I'd probably try superglue then too. Like - what are they gonna do right? Hit me with it? It's bloody heavy actually. Come on girl, time for some invisible mending. You used to be a whizz with the ol fibreglass resin coating stuff and car body filler. Little granite chip should be a piece of piss. Stop sobbing! Get a grip!!
OR - I could hand it over in a spazzy way and sort of drop it and then blame them? Suddenly I see a light........... There's always another way of looking at something. It could work.
Or I could just lob it through the vulture whore's window. Now someone's finally using her noodle. I think I'll end with a song!
***sealions up me skirt....... drools on face still gleaming.....***
I knew there was a reason that I never ever introduced my children to football.
ReplyDeleteBut...I used to send dh early Sunday mornings to stand in the bollock-shrinking cold and watch ds1 chase a hockey ball around a field. I thought I'd done quite well by delegating this chore, until dh confessed that he used to spend the entire session drinking coffee in the nice and toasty cafe.
Ds1 eventually gave up hockey after realising that the medal he got at the end of the year wasn't actually an award (unlike the gold, silver and bronze ones that the other children received). It was, instead, one of those medals you get for just turning up and participating.
It should be the bloody parents who get the medals anyway. Children don't feel the cold or care about rain. I bloody do!!!
ReplyDeleteI keep trying to suggest nice warm indoor sports they could try. But what do I get? Bloody ice skating!!!! I may not get rained on inside there but I get dripped on and it takes half the journey home (which is a LONG one) before my feet start to thaw out.
And then there's the gymnastics hall. Oh yes. There I sit through 2 classes (to cover my monsters' age range) on a hard bench in - yes - sub-zero temperatures.
Don't even mention swimming pool changing rooms.
Why can't they be inert geeks with no interest in sport at all?
It's alright when they get big enough to just drop off and run - but then they go and get good at things and end up in competitions you can't miss.
I want a damn medal!
gah. i bet you've handed the thing back now. you could have said a thief broke in the night and stole it. it was the only thing they took. on account of how it looked so incredibly expensive and straight from tiffany's.
ReplyDeletethat might work. or maybe the thief was a stone eating monster ghoul, and he ate it. the little gravel chips you have found in the car park are all that is left. hey! maybe that is rare stone eating monster ghoul poo. sell it to them.
It could have worked. Damn.
ReplyDelete