Blue Peter Badge Required…

Does anyone have any spare Blue Peter badges lying around?

Anyone?

Because apparently I should be doling them out on the hour, every hour, today.

Instead I have resorted to hissing things like “Oh you did did you?” and “Yeah like I do EVERY FUCKING DAY!”, (under my breath obviously.)

Until approximately 5pm when we pulled up outside a supermarket… When Mammy may or may not have LOST the fricken PLOT.

You see, we had driven to the supermarket in the silent understanding that we needed to acquire foodstuff for the dinner.

This genius deduction arose from Daddy asking “Did you get anything in for the dinner?” to which Mammy answered “I don’t know, did YOU get anything in for the dinner?”

You see, the fridge is empty. And quite frankly, so is Mammy. I’m burnt out and tired and so, having clawed my way to the weekend, am happily rejoicing in the NOTHINGNESS and UNTHINKINGNESS that cometh with spending a weekend with my beloved family and my beloved Husband…

Having made every decision and organised all the everything for the past, oh, I don’t know, eleventy fucking billion YEARS, Mammy mistakenly thought that it MIGHT just be possible for someone ELSE to figure out what the feck we might eat for “the dinner” for ONE NIGHT.

Mammy, it turns out, was mistaken.

Up pulls Himself to the supermarket.
He stops the car and says “Go on”, indicating that Mammy should pop in and pick up something.

“Sorry what?” growls Mammy.
“Go ahead. I’ll wait here with Princess.” (Snoring in the back seat)
“What exactly am I Going in for?” snarls Mammy. (warning warning…)
“The dinner?” answers Daddy, a slow realisation dawning on his handsome face that he might just have pulled the pin form the grenade.
“And what exactly will “the dinner” consist of?” hisses Mammy
“I don’t know” answers Daddy
“Well if YOU don’t know, how the FUCK should I know?”
“You were the one who said go to the shop.” he tries, knowing already that he is not winning this one…

Calculating that Mammy’s current level of hormental is probably not worth the weeks of sleeping with one eye open that may follow should he continue on this tirade of fuckwittery, he concedes that he shall go into the supermarket.

And so the valiant gallant knight in fucking Underarmour that he is, dismounted his trusty steed, puffed up his manly chest and announced that he was “going in then”…

And in he did go. (accompanied by Mini-Me who knows to supervise incase he buys a chainsaw to go with the power washer.) And out he did come with a bag of sustenance with which to feed his family, muttering something about having to “do everything”…

Which Mammy ignored as Mammy had had a full 8 minutes of quiet time, to take deep breaths and wonder just how I could go about getting a box of Blue Peter Badges for the fucking hero that he is…

(I do love him really though.)
*(may be slightly exaggerated for entertainment purposes. :))

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