I’m pretty sure my wife is practicing witchcraft.. No, please, hear me out first.
Our kids are amazing and I love them, but at bedtime I sometimes get pushed to the point where I just want to shot putt one or both of them through the double glazing. I can put the Destroyer to bed, read a story and turn off the lights with a wee kiss on the forehead. This however seems to be the activation code for Defcon 2, and the next thing you know he’s on the fucking roof like that creepy bastard baby from Trainspotting, singing about tractors for the next three hours and did you know that potatoes are a fucking vegetable dad?
Yet if his mother puts him to bed, she’s back downstairs five minutes later with the smuggest, shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen in your days, arms wide out like she’s just beaten Floyd Mayweather over three easy rounds. Sure enough, I’ll go upstairs to check, and the little prick is snoring like someone is feeding a granite breeze block through a trash compactor.
And it’s the same thing with the littlest one ‘Roobarb’. She’ll howl like I’m sticking burning matches between her toes if I try and cradle her to sleep, yet if ‘Granny Weatherwax’ here takes over the little knob is asleep before I can get a chance to navigate my way through the satellite box to the ten-minute Freeview on Babestation.
I mean look, may I present the attached photo from earlier this evening as my first piece of evidence: I present the Jury with The Roobs dressed in a two-piece skeleton t-shirt and leggings that she made a mad dash for today in the supermarket, (Nearly wiping out an old lady who was having a very intense look at the rated-18 DVD’s) and has subsequently sworn to wear exclusively for at least the next eight months. Plus, she’s teaching our two children to ‘slut drop’ to the strains of Dirty Dancing in the background.
If any form of ritual dance is designed to bring sorrow and curse upon a household, it’s the act of shaking one’s tooshie in the face of a sweaty Patrick Swayze. In fact, even I admit this one doesn’t hold much water – given the chance, my toosh would be grinding all up and down the magnificence that is ‘The Swayze’.
I think tomorrow I’m going to subject her to the Witch Trials. I’ve googled some of the more effective ones, I’ll report back later tomorrow night with my findings. If you don’t hear from me, please come and check that I’m not standing facing the fence on the corner of the garden, and there’s little stupid stick figures hanging all over the bloody place.