Monkey Boy learnt a valuable lesson this afternoon.
Or, perhaps, several valuable lessons.
Or, quite possibly, nothing at all.
You see, he and his youngest sibling, Chippie, were given the task of washing and drying the dishes.
Otherwise occupied, I was oblivious to how this was actually taking place.
Also, I trust them, you see. They’ve been doing this for a many, many months now, and although it is never without some sort of tantrum, tears, delays or other such child-normal shenanigans, it always gets done.
It wasn’t until I called for Monkey Boy, who refused to come when I asked, that I went to him, only to find he would not come out from behind the door.
He was peering around it, but not extracting his entire self from behind it.
When he did, and after I had stopped laughing and laughing and laughing, I was able to ask “What is that around your mouth?”
It was tinged blue, all the way around his lips. The top more than the bottom. When I say “blue” I mean, well, like Smurf Blue; bright, unmissable, highly, highly laugh-at-able!
“You don’t want to know,” he replies.
Which usually means I really don’t want to know, but also has the effect of sparking my curiosity, making me