A guest post by Miss E Brown
I have a tale, dear reader. A tale of warning – do not trust ANYONE.
Today started like any other. I got up around five. Apparently Big Bro used to get up at that sort of time too but age has weakened him; not to the extent of the Parents, of course, but still. It has fallen to me to get the household going and without me I don’t know what they’d do (Sleep, probably – Ed.).
So, anyway, I go about my business. I personally don’t see what’s wrong with a little redecoration of the rooms. Pink yoghurt makes a very satisfying streak on the sofa, and has a great and profound statement about the state of civilisation if you take the time to consider it. And what is the point of them buying me toys if they stay packed away?
Anyway, Mummy must have been feeling a little under the weather, poor love, as she just didn’t enter into things in the right spirit at all. She really started coming loose at the edges when I tried diving. Have you ever done that? You shout to be helped up onto the sofa (give it a couple of months and I’ll be able to do it myself but for now I have to put up with ridiculously short legs) then bat your eyelashes very very fast with a beaming smile. While the Responsible Adult is recovering from the dazzling onslaught, leg it to the other end of the sofa and, well, dive off. I don’t know which is better, the adrenaline rush as you free-fall through the air or the sheer comedy of the Responsible Adult throwing themselves to grab your legs as theirs flay wildly in the air. Fantastic.
We passed the morning quite happily this way, mixed in with a little teasing as I pretend to stick my head down the toilet, then took Big Bro to nursery where once again Mummy stopped me borrowing some of the nursery crayons. Spoilsport. I was practically angelic (*chokes* Sorry. Ed.). Ahem. Practically angelic the rest of the morning, had my lunch, shared everybody else’s, blissfully content in the knowledge that even if I’d gone a teensy bit close to the edge a couple of times, Mummy and Daddy instantly forgive and harbour no grudges.
Shows what I know. I get tucked up in my car seat, have a little doze and arrive at the doctors. I flirt a little (always good to keep in practice), attempt to explore the corridors and then we get waved into a room with a smiling lady and a slightly maniacally-smiling Mummy. Judas.
She actually HELD ME DOWN while the nurse stuck a needle in my leg. Did you get that? SHE HELD ME DOWN. My own mother. What vile vengeance even those we love most will stoop to.
I don’t know what they put in me, but if I’m abducted by aliens in the night, remember dear readers: I told my story. Don’t forget me (as if we could. Ed.).
8 thoughts on “Vengeance and Vaccinations”
Poor you, Emily! What a bad mother you have. Hang on, I think I may have done the same to my kid. Tsk! Mothers: can’t live with them, can’t shoot them…
Excellent. So funny. Like a female Stewie Griffen. How does she feel about broccoli?
Aww, poor Emily!
And of course, V is also for Voice (which is particularly strong here). Poor child (and poor you, dear Ed!).
Aw thank you! I of course suffered more than she did…
Now THERE’S an idea…
(Er, Nettie…?! Ed.)
Broccoli? Like trees. What’s not to like about trees? Especially when planted out in the woods…
Yes, now you mention it!