The children are still alive, and have all privileges intact. I am grateful, but mostly grateful because I didn’t have to listen to any of their bickering last night when they got in from school.

They did attempt a few half hearted arguments for old time’s sake, but one raised finger from me, accompanied by the fierce eyebrow arch of doom, convinced them they were on a sticky wicket and they subsided with dark looks and some muttering.

I can live with that.

In other news, I have observed that I have a new and annoying habit. My other, old and annoying habit is the propensity to not go for a wee when I need one, and then wander about with an ever filling bladder, reminding myself every ten minutes or so that I really ought to go for a wee, but still not going until I am at the point of having to cross my legs on the way to the loo, and pray that nobody makes me laugh or all will be lost. My new habit is to get ready to go out by putting one only one shoe, and then wandering aimlessly around for quite some time, doing a bit of light dusting, or finding my gloves, or anything really, other than putting my other shoe on. Eventually, when it is pretty much the last, last moment, I deign to put the other shoe on.

I did it this morning, driving myself slightly mental in the process and looking back, realise I have been doing this for quite some time. What gives? Why do I do these utterly infuriating and pointless things? It’s not as if life is easier with a full bladder, or one shoe on.  I struggle with day to day normality as it is without making it like some kind of biological It’s a Knockout.

‘Will the British contestant beat the Belgian in the race to see who can shimmy through the giant vegetable obstacle race first? Ha ha! No. She has hampered herself by only wearing one shoe, with very badly tied laces. Oh dear! The Swede has tipped her into the artificial pond by treading on one of the laces.  Hooray! She’s up, but is now being lapped by a muscular young woman from Denmark as she goes through the hoops for the second time. Still, she could probably get that bucket into the measuring jug before the French…Oh. No. She appears to have wet herself. Tricky.’

2 responses to “Knockout

  1. I wet myself last year because of PRECISELY that kind of urinary procrastination. It turns out that the penultimate moment becomes the post-ultimate moment if you cough…!

  2. or laugh…

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