But I thought Daddy loved me!!???

Mr GPants has just cut Rock Godling's fringe.

I repeat:    Mr GPants has just cut Rock Godling's fringe.

This  is   A   BAD   THING.  

This is now truly the Scene of the Crime.

(I really need to learn how to do pictures on blogs just to share the full horror  -  but that would simply be sensationalising child abuse.)

The poor half-pint soul man will be traumatised for ever more.    It really is THAT bad.    I walked into the kitchen/crimescene as the atrocity was taking place to be met with a panicky look on Mr GPants face scooting into a silent  'SSSSHHHHH!!!!!'  shape.    My eyes popped and brows flew as I turned tail and RAN!    Was found shaking in the cupboard under the stairs a full 5 minutes later.

The victim was ushered into the shower  (which would normally be much heralded)  where the mirror was thankfully still steamed up after Thuglet's hysterical willy-splattering session.    I think Father From Hell has got away with it for now  -  and I expect him to be long gone by the time any of us get up tomorrow.    So this leaves ME with the clean up operation.    I can tell he feels guilty as he offered RG The Big Bed for the night  -  which means cuddles and happy boy basking in the bliss of ignorance.    It also means I'm down here reading blogs when I should be in bed  -   now to be Thuglet's bottom bunk  -  which I pretend is a sumptuous 4-poster.       (No I really don't.    I really couldn't.    Not staring at my sheet tucking from below.    Bottom bunks are so unaesthetic.)        I     c o u l d     have a whole bed to myself if I chose RG's top bunk but that is tantamount to lunacy in this hobbit cave.  

The Incident also sparked another stupid argument about cleaning.    All arguments about cleaning are stupid.    Cleaning is stupid.    Especially  THIS  house.    But Mr GP brushed the hair off the kitchen counters with the dustpan and brush.    The one I use for  THE FLOOR.    Did I really need to explain that to anyone?    I spluttered  'That's not hygienic!'    Which is what opened the firing.    A whole battery of spitting outrage listing all the disgusting features of our house due to our  -  no  MY  slovenliness  etc  etc.    Well  -  I believe it was.    I was already fluttering around the emerging mini monk from the shower and  NOT LISTENING!!!!!........

I already have a million and one things to do in the morning before having to be somewhere I don't know quite early with implements which I'm not sure I'll be able to find,   and I really don't need to be comforting/restyling  (like HOWthefuck???)  a small sobbing little dudelet robbed of his dudelet locks.

Can you still be a cool rock star with a pudding bowl hairdo?      Yes you can!

Can you still be a cool rock star with a random turretted brow frightener?      No.    No you can't.  

I could remove all the mirrors in the house.    (What was that Joan Crawford film?   -  Just had to google it  -  A Woman's Face  -  sorry).    I would also have to remove all the mirrors on the car.    And swear extreme violence to all our friends we're meeting up with if they say anything.    And hope the pond we're dipping in tomorrow is murky and non-reflective.    And swear extreme violence to all the frogs.    But who am I kidding?    The tragic shorn one has siblings.    And that,   as everyone knows,  is that.

There is noone on earth so cruel as a sibling.    They have been quiet up til now but it's just sinister.    Mr GP must have stuck their lips together with something.    Goop off the dustpan and brush possibly.    But it is merely a stomach-coiling pre-emptive torture.   They can't possibly hold out beyond reaching the bottom stair in the morning.    And then the screaming shall begin.    My alarm tone.




I might just get in the car now and  D R I V E ...................