The Confession Conundrum (or Sometimes Mum Screws Up)

I screwed up.

And now I’m in a quandary.

You see, well, here’s what happened. On Friday night we had dinner and sat down to watch a movie; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2

Yes, an M rated movie I let me 10 year old and 8 year old, oh, and my 3 year old watch. Also my middle aged husband, he was allowed to watch as well. But that is not my confession. Nor do I have an issue with it.

No. I had a hankering, so I grabbed the pack of salt & vinegar chips, and carefully and evenly distributed them between five bowls. I did now want to be accused of giving one of my children a salt grain more than another.

I kept back a handful or so, which I intended to stash away so that I may indulge in a Salt & Vinegar chip sandwich when no one was watching.

Upon hearing the opening of the chip packet, I was immediately set upon by all manner of child (and adult), climbing up legs, and pulling on arms and getting in my face and saying “Can I have some, can I have some?” like I had served up five, equally proportioned bowls with the intent to deprive them of salt & vinegar chips.

Seriously? Do I need to explain everything? Apparently so.

The chips were devoured and spread over the couch, and the movie entertained us.

I performed the usual Saturday morning ritual of saying “Did anyone actually eat any chips, or did you just spread them all over the couch for fun?”, basketball game, meet Grumpy at gymnastics for a child dump and head off to breakky with a friend.

Upon my return home, lunch had been consumed by all remaining in the household, and I had only just eaten a late breakfast so was not hungry. By the time 2pm rolled around, I was hankering for that salt & vinegar chip sandwich.

Lo and behold … the packet was gone! I searched high and low, and it was nowhere to be found. I figured Grumpy had put it out of the way somewhere, when he’d be preparing for the Saturday morning open for inspection.

By happenstance, I glanced in the bin and discovered an empty salt & vinegar chip packet. My cranky pants were working their way on, but I retained a high level of poise (calm, not the panty liners) and gently enquired as to who ate the chips.

“I won’t get angry,” I promised. “I just want to know where they went?”

Denial. Denial. Denial.

“No one” ate them.

I set upon Godzilla, as he has a propensity to lie. Sometimes, it is his interpretation of the question. Sometimes, it is an outright lie, that even upon being found out, he will still not confess to.

Take, for example, his farts. They are distinct. They are also worthy of inclusion in the “Crimes Against Humanity Manual” and his bum could quite easily be sanctioned by the American Armed Forces to aid in the War Against Terror.

He will, wide-eyed innocently, deny any gaseous emissions from between his emaciated buttocks. And continue t deny, deny, deny when it could not possibly be anyone else, as they have all passed out from the toxicity of said emissions.

So I let him in on how much I hate being lied to. I reinforced this point a number of times. And still he denied.

“Oh, well,” I said. “There will be no Wii, no DS, no computer until whomever did it confesses. I will not be angry that they did it. I will be angry about being lied to.”

And left it at that.

Grumpy and I gave the situation a forensic going over later that night and concluded that the only person capable of having the ability to eat said chips, unwitnessed, was the real estate agent. Highly unlikely. Godzilla had no opportunity, Chippie could not reach and Monkey Boy … maybe, but it would have been a push.

It was a mystery.

Then it hit me, a day later … um, it was highly likely that it iwas me. No, not a late night snack, or some sleep-eating. Just that the “oh, we have an open for inspection tomorrow and … oh, fuck it, I’ll just empty the pack now.”

Being heavily distracted by a three year old attempting to climb my leg, lest he miss out, and an 8 year old attempting to wrench a bowl from my hands and the like, the thought didn’t really penetrate my brain.

And I forgot that it ever happened.

My conundrum?

Do I fess up?

Or will this lead the rest of family to taunt me with it for years to come and they’ll not respect the infallibility of my memory every again?

I have no problem saying “sorry” if I ever stuff up (rarely of course! :P) … will my status in the household take a nose dive, or shatter before my very eyes …

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