I am So-mortified-AGAIN Mum! πŸ˜…

​Don’t you just LOVE kids?
4 and a half year olds are particularly adorable.
I have one you know.

 I’m really quite proud of the little toot.

She’s pretty, cute and funny and gives me endless hours of laughter and joy and of course the main one…utter and ABSOLUTE MORTIFICATION.
So frequently do I currently find myself wishing that the ground would open up, that one could mistake me for an archaeologist.

Except, I don’t want to uncover bones or history…

I want to climb in beside the bloody bones and turn back time.


Well behaved Mini-Me being suspiciously sweet and quiet.πŸ’—


Check out.😈😈😈
We were waiting in the queue, behind a lovely lady who was possibly just out of the gym.

Her hair was scraped back and she was very tall and sans muckup.  She looked like a wonderfully normal woman, minding her own business.
The DOLLY looks up at her and I can suddenly see what is JUST ABOUT TO HAPPEN unravel before it actually does.

It’s slow motion… 😲😲😲😲😲
I try in vain to distract her and to change the subject before she opens her pretty loud little beak.

I fail miserably because, in the loudest WHISPER you have EVER HEARD, she announces:

 “Mammy it’s MISS TWUNCHBULL!”


It’s  out and before I get a chance to shush her, she misunderstands that I might not have heard her the first time, so she shouts it again…sans whisper.
I start some ridiculous sing song about reading James and the Giant Peach when we get home, praying she didnt hear, and eventually have to courage to look up at Miss-not-at-all-like-the-Trunchbull to see if she’s  going to seing me over the fence by my pigtails!
She seems oblivious and is paying the check-out attendant.  PHEW!
The attendant, however, is not oblivious.

He is trying with great difficulty to stifle his laughter.
The unknowing star of our Roald Dahl inspired show leaves the shop and he buckles. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

“OH GOD I’M MORTIFIED!” I say, scarlet faced.
“I’ve seen worse Love” he laughs.
I pay and leave with Mini-Me  trotting behind me, quite happy with herself and having NO CLUE how close she was to getting Mammy locked in the fricken Chokey.
And she’s lucky that there is no Chokey in S-Mumble Hill…
It’s Mortification Monday. πŸ˜…πŸ˜…
How was your day? πŸ˜™πŸ˜™πŸ˜™πŸ˜™

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