Well hello everyone.
Happy New Year to one and all.
This year is going to be a year of changes on many fronts. Yes, mummy “spiteful” is not going down the revenge route anymore. I have decided that all the “Ghetto” types of behaviour that I have exhibited over the past year, when dealing with my children now has to stop. I have to find other ways and means of establishing my authority and dictating what I will or will not tolerate.
So let me just recap slightly all those things which I did last year which had my children staring at me stating “You’re a psychopath” – to which I’d reply – “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Now come on peeps, I am sure that I will not have to explain any of my actions in detail to you because you will know that I was either provoked or justified in my reactions. So here is just one of those situations which I will be dealing with in a much different way.
Footwear Littered all over my Gaff
Now let me really give it to you in its most simplest form. I have always told my two boys that once they come home to simply line their shoes up in the passageway. Simple request right? But oh no! Sometimes I have walked through the door and have found myself tripping all the way to the kitchen, as if on some obstacle course and I really, really do not appreciate this. The times when I really, really start to speak in tongues is when I have been out all day and have had to restrain from using the toilet. Then I turn the key in the lock with visions of having that out of body experience of floating on white clouds, with the angel Gabriel stroking my brow whilst having a nice big fat cigar (no I have never smoked but surely you must have experienced that “relief” moment when you just let it all out) – as I dash to the toilet to relieve myself.
But I’d be hollering and speaking in tongues as I’d stumble into the toilet and after wedging my foot into one of my younger son’s sized 11 boat of a trainer, I’d spend the next few seconds trying to stop myself from free falling into the toilet bowl. So no, not funeeeee.
So after many many days of at first asking my children, quite eloquently to please “Put your shoes tidily in the hallway, darlings” and not getting the required response. After many more days of more stumbling and cursing; after many days of stubbing my big toe then the way of approaching the situation would have to change. The Clint Eastwood of South East London would have to make her presence known and Dame Eloquent would be out the window and on her way to Ghettoland and things would deteriorate into: “If you don’t move your frigging shoes, from the frigging passageway, then I am going to put them in the frigging bin or burn them” to which I’d receive a chorus of “in as minute mum.”
Now as you will now realise, this was certainly not the time to be telling me anything other than that which I wanted to hear such as “ok, mum, coming.” So without much ado, the front door to my flat and the communal door would be flung open with pure hatred and an assortment of footwear would be thrown to the curb.
I’d really to smile as I did this, because I did not want members of the public to see me as little Miss Screwface, so if you were on the other side of the road, you’d see a raised hand, fling the footwear, as if in a game of rounders, and the door slam shut. No face, no source, no perpetrator, just a pair of flying shoes or trainers by “the hand.”
As you may have guessed by now, my children did not react very happily to this, and the word “psychopath” would scroll across their eyes like daggers. I’d be right there up in their faces, inhaling their quota of oxygen, daring them to “make mummy madder, come on mek my day.” You can then well imagine that with mummy deranged standing eye ball to eye ball with them, they would hurriedly run to fetch their shoes, looking around wildly in case members of their “posse” were in the vicinity.
So I am quite happy to say that from now on, I will not be putting myself through such nonsense. From now on things will go much more smoothly. Doors opens, footwear gets flung out – whoosh, door shuts silently, mummy smiles as the tune of The Omen, fades in the background.
