Knickers in a Twist

Like every parent, you can’t help but hear grumbles and whispers on the local grapevine or social media group page about how this or that Nursery in the area is the worst thing to happen to society since Gemma Collins managed to stumble her way into any form of public attention.

  “Oh my god like, I SERIOUSLY just heard that Chantelle’s little girl Khaleesi-Rhianna came home from that ‘Loving Touch Daycare’ place missing two of her teeth. She was probably exposed to one of those vaccinated kids that they let attend there, I saw on Twitter that those ‘vaccine’ things rot your gums and everything starts tasting like liquorice Sports Mixtures!”

  “OH.EM.FUCKING.G!! I’ll send her a Snapchat message and see if she wants any of the leftover essential oils I used on little Drogo-RuPaul last summer when he had that really bad bout of tuberculosis. Honestly a lifesaver, whenever he comes off the ventilator briefly he always tells me how much he loves the smell of the lavender and duck piss balm I spread all over his pillow each night!”

We’ve been lucky however that our local public school nursery is staffed by some of the most wonderful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of dumping my rugrat upon before running off toward the freedom of a non-headbutted morning.

Not a complaint is made when our son politely tells them that he’s pumped out a decidedly sticky ‘treasure’ into his Bing Rabbit underpants, nor a grumble when he tries to ‘Platform 9¾’ his way through a solid brick wall at full speed and never do they cast me as much as a shitty glare when I stumble in amongst the stramash of bodies in the morning trying to wrestle their offspring into gym shoes, and end up stepping on at least three to four adults or children in my attempts to escape without being shivved or bitten by the array of knee high snot-goblins running around my feet like a shoal of circling piranha.

Instead, these amazing people have managed to help us turn the ravenous wee beastie into an almost ‘civilized’ ravenous wee beastie. I mean, he’ll still take great pleasure in elbow-dropping your genitalia into the next door neighbours garden, but at least now with the support of his teachers, he’ll at least apologize to you for doing so while you slip in and out of consciousness, crumpled at his feet.

So when it came time for the latest ‘Parent/Teacher Meeting’, I was well up for it, hoping to hear more about the day to day exploits the little brute was getting up to in class. Was he managing to stop being the creepy kid who likes to hug everyone, or had he driven any of the teachers to drink with his incessant prattling about how Lightning McQueen is definitely faster than Jackson Storm?

These are the kind of questions that I was planning to jot down once I was dry and near a notepad, and just as I stewed over more ridiculous queries whilst smothering my big baldy head in a hefty dose of Lynx Africa shower gel, my Fire Brigade pager went off.

I’ve swiftly learned since joining the Retained service that there are several activities which are pre-destined to activate that noisy little bastard of clip-on evil;

  1: The second you apply any form of lather to your body in a bath or shower. There’s nothing the Fire & Rescue Gods love more than seeing fat naked men covered in a bubbly herb infused foam go slipping and sliding through a house like a pinball grabbing random clothes. What’s that, you’ve arrived in your wife’s dress and a pair of hob-nail boots? Nobody judges you son, it’s just what the Fire-Gods demand of you this day.

  2: Any form of stressful or vigorous bowel movement will invoke the fiery deities, and they will wait till you hit the very peak of uncomfortably jammed up jobby-log before sounding the sirens. Thus you are forced to perform the dreaded ‘snib-off’ maneuver before scampering for the door like a constipated crab.

  3: Most of all, the Fire Gods do enjoy a spot of ‘Coitus Interruptus’. Should you dare try to initiate any form of naked hugging with your better half, the pager will start to scream at you; “THE FIRES ARE LIT! GONDOR CALLS FOR AID!”. Run little Hobbit, the fiery wrath of Blue-Balls await you..

I smashed my way through to the bedroom and threw on whatever clothes I could find before running out the door to make my way to the station. Luckily the job finished quick and I just had enough time to hang up my helmet and make my way across to the nearby primary school and the nursery section at it’s rear.
Arriving at the door I pressed the buzzer and waited for someone to come and let me in, all the while trying to fix my twisted clothes and undergarments that had been heaved on with no finesse a short while before, I was trying to be super discreet however, because you don’t want people saying that they saw a large soggy looking man in mismatched clothes grabbing at himself outside a bloody nursery.

I was let in by ‘Mrs A’, one of The Destroyer’s favouritest teachers in the whole world seemingly, who guided me along to a quiet room away from the classroom where we could talk, and as I walked beside her making small talk about how the boy was today, I clicked why my nethers felt as uncomfortable as they did.

In my rush to respond to the pager, I’d clearly thrown my boxer shorts on the wrong way round.

Mrs A ushered me into the room and pointed at a chair I could sit on. The moment I sat down I realized I’d been correct. The flap at the front of your boxers usually reserved for pulling your toodle through at the urinal was now fully open like an angry cyclops eye over my back passage. I tried my best to focus on what was being said by Mrs A as we chatted about my sons seemingly excellent progression in the classroom, all the while wiggling to find the best sitting position that wouldn’t immediately have me focusing on my exposed tea-towel holder.

“Should I sit forward? I’ll sit forward.. NO! Sitting back now and smile, maybe nod so you don’t look like an imbecile.. Maybe cross my legs? DOUBLE NO PUT YOUR LEG DOWN IMMEDIATELY SOLDIER! Good lord that was a close one.. Maybe sit to the side? Does this make me look like I’m farting? THE EYE OF SAURON IS ALWAYS WATCHING! And why am I sweating KEEP NODDING AND SMILING FOR GOD SAKE!”

As the short meeting came to a close, I tried not to think of my brown eye peeking through that misplaced flap – like Jack Nicholson shoving his face through the hotel door in The Shining – before saying my goodbyes and making my way home as quickly as my oversized feet would carry me.

So that’s it; From now on I’m storing a complete set of sensible clothes at the Fire Station that I can change into calmly and correctly after coming back from a job.

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