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Day 28 - Gotta Laugh


Today marked the beginning of the new school term. Mr Braithwaite had sent a whole batch of new stuff for the twins to tackle and had sent a separate email to me regarding my difficulties in maths. When I clicked on the attachments, I could see that one was a differentiated exercise that he'd devised for kids in his class with special educational needs and the other was a help sheet for Year 3 pupils. And I still couldn't bloody fathom it. "I'm just not a numbers person!" I announced. "I'm all about the words, me."
     John waded in, insisting that he knew a 'much easier' way of doing the new maths problems so I happily left him to it, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Molly and Marcus would lose patience with their father and it would undoubtedly become my problem once again.
     "Remember I said that we were going to start a healthy new regime this week? Well, while you're doing maths, I'll make a start on preparing the vegetables for a pan of super-healthy soup for our lunch. I think I might even make my own wholemeal bread to go with it. I'm sure there's a bag of strong flour at the back of the cupboard somewhere."
     "So you've done the report for Victoria then?"
     "Shit! No. Ok …… but the regime's coming. It's gonna happen. Stick a couple of pizzas in the oven in about an hour then, John.  I'd better get some work done."

I'd forgotten how you can lose hours of your day when you're wrapped up in an intense task like report writing.  It was only when my stomach started growling at me that I realised how long I'd been at it.
     The kitchen looked like someone had taken every piece of crockery and cutlery out of the cupboard and drawers, smeared them with tomato ketchup and scattered them around every surface.  The homeschooling had clearly long-since been abandoned, judging by the fact that the same exercise that I'd attempted to help them with earlier, still sat unfinished on the table. Naturally, I could hear the familiar sounds of the X Box.
     "Did you make your own pizzas?" I asked John. "I didn't know we had all the ingredients."
     "No.  I just put two frozen ones in the oven like you said," he replied, proudly.
     "What's with all the dishes then? It looks like there's been an explosion in …… in a …. dish factory in there!"
     "I'll do them later," he said, turning back to his phone.
     I thought about it.  I decided that it just wouldn't be worth my time or effort. I bit down hard on my tongue, grabbed a packet of Quavers and turned to go back upstairs to work. It seemed like the grown up thing to do.
     "Oh, Daisy!" he called out.  "I need to take those things you got yesterday, round to my mother's."
     "Can't you leave it till later? I've got loads of work and the kids need watching."
     "They're ten and bloody sixteen!"
     "They'll argue and make a bloody racket! I've GOT to finish the report by 'the end of play' today, as Olivia calls it."
     "Ok. Ok.  I'll drop the stuff over tonight."

Though I say it myself, I felt like I'd done a pretty decent job of writing the report, considering I didn't give a toss about its contents. That should shut them up for a few days!  I'd attached the document to an email where I'd basically lied my arse off about having thought it had been sent last week, but ….. Wifi this ….. laptop problem that …… blah blah blah.
     John arrived home with leaves in his hair. "Do you NEVER learn your lesson?" I asked him.  "KEEP OUT OF THE BLOODY BUSHES! Especially after dark!"
     "I will NOT put my own mother at risk, Daisy! She said thank you for the Bakewell tart, by the way."
     "I bet you sprayed it down, didn't you?"
     "Of course, but don't worry.  She said she's getting used to the taste."
     "Well don't come crying to me if you poison her.  Then you will have a problem on your hands. Anyway, now that I've finally finished that report,  it's time to say goodbye to these old-lady roots of mine. I think I'll try out Warm Chestnut first."
     "Chestnut?"
     "I think that's the closest match to my natural colour."
     "Natural, my arse!"
     "It's gonna be a big improvement on what's going on up there at the moment, you'll see. Prepare to be amazed!"

Fifty minutes later, John was gently rapping on the bathroom door, using all the usual tricks to entice me out. "Come on Dais, I've poured you a lovely glass of Pinot."
     "I'm not ready, John. I need a bit of time to myself."
     "Ok but don't take all night about it.  I thought we could start a new box set."
     "Give me ten minutes. I just need to …… come to terms with it."
     "It can't be that bad."
     "Depends whether you think that pinky orange roots and bright orange hair, isn't that bad."
     "Pinky orange, eh?" I could hear that he was struggling to suppress a laugh. "Gimme something to help me visualise it.  Are we talking candyfloss?"
     "Not quite that pink.  More like …… your mother's bedroom curtains."
     "Never seen them. And when you say bright orange, you probably just mean ginger?" I could hear the smile on his face and the laugh rising in his throat.  "I quite like a ginger. You know I quite like a ginger."
     "I'm not talking Ed Sheeran.  I mean bright orange like ….." I took a long hard look in the mirror to give him an accurate comparison.  "Ooh ….. I can't think of their name," I said, surprised by the fact that I was smiling now.  "I think they're a character in the Simpsons."
     From behind the door,  I heard John let rip. "Ha! A character from the Simpsons! I bet you mean …… Sideshow Bob." There was a bump as if he'd collapsed onto the floor, like he does when something is too hilarious for him to cope with.
      "Yes. That's him!"
     "Ha Ha! Sideshow Bob!  Sorry Daisy,  but …."
     But it didn't matter because suddenly, I was in hysterics myself, laughing until the tears poured down my face. "I am.  I'm ….. I'm the spitting image of …. Sideshow Bob, John!"


   

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