Sunday dinner in Wheelie Manor is fraught with peril.
I wasn't supposed to be doing it. The Bear was trying to supervise aged father-in-law in the garden, cook dinner, do washing, and eventually gave up when Little Bear demanded we watched three recorded Dr. Who's on the trot. Sweetheart - NO! I said as the smoke alarm went off.
Then, as I was doing the Shawadywaddy Dance around the kitchen, (I forgot the oven gloves) the midget cat-that-thinks-he's-a-tiger jumped into the pork crackling. Then Bear saved my Bacon by explaining why the smoke alarm went off in the first place 10 mins earlier. And ran out again. Followed by a cat with a gobfull.
No crackling today. No roast cat either, darnit. Sulk.
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It was buggin' me, why the face of the young lady who served me at the credit union in our town centre seemed so familiar. Sure, I know the boss - we went to the same church more than 16 years ago. It's not hard to know why she remembered me. I've always looked - and sounded like, Santa on a gap year.
C'mon. Think about it? What else would Santa do the other 364 days a year? Other than deal with Elf and Safety that disadvantages children? And who else would have married a Bear..... Think. About. It.... :)
So why did she give my ID such a cursory glance?
Now I know. She visits my next door neighbour. It's astonishing. Never occurred to me.
Amazingly small world :)
C'mon. Think about it? What else would Santa do the other 364 days a year? Other than deal with Elf and Safety that disadvantages children? And who else would have married a Bear..... Think. About. It.... :)
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So why did she give my ID such a cursory glance?
Now I know. She visits my next door neighbour. It's astonishing. Never occurred to me.
Amazingly small world :)
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