Saving grace …?

Despite the mammoth, traumatic shopping experience only days earlier, we didn’t really have anything for this evening’s meal.

Grumpy usually does the meat, fruit and vegie shop and just hasn’t done it for … well, some time now.

I was forced to go to the butcher’s after school to get something.


Select a limited period between school pickup and heading out the door to gymnastics to go. Have calm, rational discussion with Monkey Boy about limited timing and spend the drive to the butcher (right next to the big supermarket) negotiating terms with him.

Repeated terms and conditions of last week, re behaviours. Only made them more specific; no hitting, biting, punching, yelling, screaming, being noisy, pushing, kicking or any other thing that constitutes hurting or annoying the other, or anyone else. Or anything that will make either of them bump into or otherwise touch or annoy other shoppers.

Clearly, despite it appearing a rather complex and complete list of misdemeanours with a considerable amount of fine print, I had left a few things out. Even the “anything else” bits didn’t cover what happened.

As I stood waiting to be served, while 3 assistants dealt with one customer two feet away, and I repeated myself with “stand here”, “stand still”, “get off that”, “come back here” etc etc etc, Monkey Boy saw the loophole in my instructions, asked Godzilla to bend over and farted in his face.

Note to self: Add that to List of Conditions of Being Out in Public with Mummy

Got meat, head home, got sorted, told kids to get in car, entertained neighbour by asking Monkey Boy if I had requested he stand at the gate looking like an idiot or get in the car, ran back inside to get Godzilla’s shoes, and drove off.

And after all that, Grumpy rang to inform me he had organised a booking for dinner at work.

Awwww, how lovely. I think, as he informed me of the time of the booking, then moved away from the phone to inform a student [insert Gordon Ramsay style instructions to apprentice Chef here] and then

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