Desperately need to go shopping for badoonga sized maternity bras.
I have no idea how the ones I’m wearing have lasted this long and/or managed to contain all that they are required to contain. Although, it’s debatable on both counts.
Grumpy off at an open day for work, so I ask the kids if they’d like to come bra shopping with me. Always an experience. But I am desperate.
Monkey Boy: “No WAY!”
Yup. Just the answer I was expecting.
Godzilla: “Oh, I love to come bra shopping wif you.”
Monkey Boy and I: “Why?!”
Godzilla: “Oh, because they have so many bras and booby tops, I love to go looking at bras and booby tops.”
Fortunately, it was raining (not sure of the connection and how this prevented a Booby Top Shopping Trip, but it works for me!) so we decided to go visit Grumpy at the open day.
The centre had all its foody bits open, providing demonstrations of various streams of cooking. We saw the “cheffing room where daddy works”. Also knowns as a “kitchen”.
We found the patisserie department, who had loads of demonstrations going on, and where my kids discovered that they did not have enough hands to cater for the produce of said demonstrations. That was the biggest dilemma for the day.
We visit daddy in the kitchen to say goodbye and, thanks to big blue eyes (the kids’, not mine) managed to get a serving of scrumptious, freshly cooked fish and chips. Then have to drag them home.
Still never got my bras or booby tops. Better put that on the list for tomorrow.
(And can’t decide Godzilla’s calling – main cast in the next Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, a Trinny & Susannah protege, or just a pervert who enjoys leering at boobs????)