The Evil Twin: Part Two

Rustling noises from the lounge room. Someone says,”That doesn’t fit inside the vacuum cleaner”. Someone says, “Was that scary enough for you, Chloe?”. Someone says, “My turn!”.
Someone else says, “NO! MY turn”. Someone bigger than both of them screams, “NO MORE TURNS, it’s DANGEROUS!!”

I’m still here in the dark, with my laptop, and my .22

If it’s too dangerous for the seven-year-old it’s sure as hell too scary for me.

The sound of a scuffle. Some bickering. I call the protagonist in.

She comes.

ME: What’s the problem?

Evil Twin: I say day tan’t hab dis. holds out small packet of plastic widgets.

ME: Why can’t they have it Clo?

ET: hands on hips, knees bending on alternate syllables BEtos it’s DAN-jrous

ME: so you took it away from them

ET: Yes.

ME: and you brought it to me?

ET: Yes.

ME: And now it’s safe?

ET: Yes, and day in BIG TROUBLE.

ME: You want me to get them in Big Trouble?

ET: YES! looking delighted the dim adult has finally got the point.

ME: If you keep pulling the laptop cord out of the back like that YOU’RE going to be in Big Trouble.

ET: sighing. Oooooo-Kaaaaay.

mtc

Bec

ps – further to the upside of the Evil Twin: she took a chickenpox vaccine needle in the thigh yesterday, watched it the whole time and didn’t flinch. Now even the doctor is scared.

In about five minutes, we’re gonna start eatin’ each other

The effort of blow drying my [unwashed for five days] hair this morning nearly made me puke from exhaustion so I fell back into bed and failed to phone in to work to say I definitely would not be there. Again.

Instead, I fired up the laptop so I could see how much I was being missed and since my inbox was full of free Google news alerts (because we’re too cheap to pay for REAL media monitoring) that all related to bizarre Nigerian school scandals and a request from reception to find the missing laminator, I figure the world of work is safe without Super-Me for just one more day. Maybe two.

Besides, I have a doctor’s certificate for today, and there’s nothing worse than wasting a perfectly good sanctioned sick day by going back to work sooner than your doctor thought you would.

Meantime, while I showered and blow-dried and logged-on and blogged, my poxy children have taken over the lounge room and kitchen and turned it into the Noo Or-lee-ans Super Dome.

They have spread the lounge cushions all over the floor as makeshift bedding; they’re using beach towels as blankets; the big ones are ganging up on the little one and someone just yelled “Who stole the bread?”

The president keeps promising me the National Guard, but until they get here I am staying in my bed with my laptop, my sultanas and my .22

The real tragedy is that this Third World devastation could all have been prevented if I’d only acted on my normal emergency plan and put the remote control somewhere they could reach it. As it is, all they are left with is the educational programs on ABC and they’ve been forced to employ their native ingenuity.

Oh, the humanity!

mtc
Bec

Good grief Charlie Brown

did Prof repeatedly drive over a black cat while you danced under a ladder or something?

Say hello Pintersol my old friend. . . .


BTW – did you know an Ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain?

Chef noticed that it was a bit off that the pantyliner quirky facts were called “Odd spots”. Eww indeed. Better than “blood clots” I guess…

There is only one word that can fully impart the whatfreshhellisthis of my week-to-be

Chickenpox.

mtc
bec
with apologies for gross misuse of extended headlines to crank up the impact of our latest viral attack.

rubbernecking tourists

if our government – one that is so committed to the financial bottom line, irrespective of its impact on people, the ‘Australian’ way of life and a sense of community (over a sense of pure, utter, selfish greed) – spends one.red.cent. getting the IDIOT Australians who were anywhere in the vicinity of Hurricane Katrina out of the area, I will be even crankier than my standard 8/10 crankiness with the mere existence of Liberals-in-power.

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