The One In Which I Finally Show My Face After The Incident

After a couple of days of hiding behind the sofa with the curtains closed and the door locked and bolted, I finally decided to show my face outside the house of the damned.

I wrapped myself in a dark coat, borrowed Littleboy1’s top-hat from his magic set (it was a little tight, but it was good enough) and made off.

It was as if the Pink Panther theme was playing as I edged out of the driveway, on my knees, practically crawling.

“HIYA!” Suzy screamed, waving ferociously from the other side of the road. “FINALLY RECOVERED?”

She burst into giggles and so I got up and ran. I didn’t know what I was meant to be doing on this little revelation. Was I going to knock on all my neighbours’ doors and say “Hiya, I’ve finally decided to show my face after my dog made my name a mockery. Anything to say to that?” or was I just going to walk around, waving at everyone and spitting upon the route I’d travelled on my stomach?

As I entered the field, a woman walking her own greyhound practically collapsed with laughter, imitating my own incident.

Oh please. That greyhound couldn't drag you across the field if it tried, I thought, staring at her beer gut as she passed.

I finally gave up and turned round, trudging back to my not-so-humble abode.

“Where’ve you been?” Hubby asked as soon as I entered the house.

“Out.”

I then noticed his expression.

“What, can’t I just go out for a walk without there being a specific reason?”

Hubby didn’t even have to think. “Well, no. And what in the world are you wearing?”

He pulled the top-hat off my head (forgot about that…maybe that was the reason I got so many weird stares) and gave it to Littleboy1 who was passing through.

“Daddy, why was Mummy wearing my special magic hat?”

“I have no idea,” was his reply, and he took Littleboy1 outside to play some football.

Jasper seemed to know I was after him, so was hiding somewhere…

The One In Which Jasper Embarrasses Me

Yesterday, I decided to take Jasper for a walk. Hubby was the one who took him every day and night, before he went to work and when he’d got back - he didn’t complain.

But yesterday, I decided I’d have a go - how hard could it be, walking him over the fields?

“Are you sure?” Hubby sniggered, when I’d told him.

“What do you mean?” I replied, attaching Jasper’s lead onto his collar.

Hubby couldn’t talk for laughing, so I just ignored him and left, oblivious to what was in store for me.

I walked him up the road, and opened the gate leading onto the fields, closing it behind me.

As we walked, I saw a figure in the distance, with a tiny little figure running along beside it.

As we neared them both, I noticed it was my friend Suzy and her little Yorkie, Jack.

“Hi, Faye!” Suzy said, coming to a halt beside us. “And, hello Jasper!”

I replied with a ‘hello’ whereas Jasper greeted her with a swift lick to her palm.

Jasper, enjoying the company, was showing off, leaping around in circles and dancing on the grass.

Suzy was laughing her head off, Jack looking a bit terrified of the huge greyhound leaping around before him.

Suddenly, without any warning or second thoughts, Jasper raced off, dragging me along behind him. I’d seen this in funny movies, but never thought it’d ever happen to me!

He raced along the whole field, showing off his speed, while I was racing through the grass, screaming and yelling, “stop, Jasper! STOP!”

I could faintly hear the hysterical giggles coming from Suzy behind me, even as we got further and further away.

Thanks Jasper. I’ll never live it down.

The One In Which I Adopt A Greyhound

We did it. We actually did it. We adopted a dog.

The process was quite hard - I’ll spare you of all the boring details. The long and short of it is, we adopted a greyhound (so a big, big, big thanks to notSupermum - I’d never have been able to do it without your help - I wouldn’t know where to start) and called him Jasper.

Littleboy1 has fallen in love with him. While Hubby and I went to do all the boring stuff, I left the children at home with my mum.

When we eventually came home, armed with dog, Littleboy1 raced (no pun intended) to the door, wrapping his arms around Jasper (God knows what he was named after - Littleboy1 felt it suited him…) and showering him with kisses.

“I love Jasper, I love Jasper, I love Jasper,” he kept repeating, until we were able to chant it with him all in unison.

Jasper seemed at ease almost straightaway - he seemed to adore Littleboy1, and was following him around the house all day.

It got so bad that Littleboy1 even insisted that Jasper joined us for dinner. “No, darling,” I said. “Jasper can’t eat tea with us at the table. He has his own little place over there.”

I pointed to his bowl.

Littleboy1 promptly picked up his plate, put it down on the kitchen floor next to Jasper and his bowl, kneeled down and started to eat.

I didn’t stop him.

Before you call social services to report me on being a bad mother, in my defence, I was too busy dying of laughter to do anything about it.

I have a feeling Jasper is going to like our family.

The One In Which I Consider a Dog

I’ve always wanted a pet. Ever since I was yay-high I wanted a dog, a cat, a hamster, a tortoise, anything. But my parents were quite strict. My dad had allergies, so I couldn’t have a cat or a dog. My mum hated rodents, so I couldn’t have a guinea pig or a hamster. That only left a few options, and my parents didn’t like them, so I couldn’t even have a budgie or a parrot.

Since I never had the chance, I forgot all about having one when I moved in with Hubby, and had my Littleboys.

But today, those memories came back with just one question from Littleboy1’s lips.

“Mummy, can we have a pet?”

It all flooded back to me. The protests, the pleas, the tears, the shouts, and the sneezes.

I had to think about it for a moment. What if I didn’t want one anymore? I’d been so hopeful all those years, and what if it wasn’t meant to be? But I didn’t want to deprive Littleboy1 of a pet, not after what I went through.

“What kind of pet?” I asked, hoping a sensible answer would follow.

“A dog!”

I mentally wiped my brow and smiled. I said yes without thinking. Hubby was still at work - he didn’t have allergies, did he? He didn’t show any signs during hay-fever seasons, and when he saw dogs in the street he’d grin and cuddle them, however big, small or furry they were.

Littleboy1 happily started to dance around the kitchen, singing a song from one of his Cbeebies programmes.

Oh, great. Now I have to get him a dog.

The One In Which I Hand In My Complaint Letter

Okay, so maybe I haven’t actually screwed up with the whole letter - I’d say I handled it quite well. I let all my informality drain away from my body, and I suddenly became my mother. That’s a screw-up in itself.

I borrowed one of Hubby’s fancy business fountain pens, and, after spending about half an hour figuring out how to change the empty ink cartridge (thanks a lot, Hubs), I was finally able to use it properly.

I started off by writing the date and all that crap neatly, cursing out loud whenever I smudged, and so had to blot with tissues (I was saving those for my soppy romance movies - Starbucks shall pay for that too, I’ll make sure of it) multiple times before getting into the swing of things.

Thankfully, I had no interruptions from Littleboy1, or else he was in danger of getting stabbed with a sharp pen.

After I’d written the whole letter (which took me about two hours, as I had to look up every single word on the formality dictionary, in fear of coming across as someone from MTV Cribs), I neatly folded it in half and sealed it in one of my posh envelopes, which I usually use to jot down my shopping list on occasion.

“Done it yet?” Hubby asked, hovering over me like a bee, obviously waiting for his pen back.

“Yes, I have, so here’s your precious weapon back,” I said, giving him back the pen and watching him scurry off lovingly to do some of his paperwork or whatever.

I put the letter in a very safe place (okay, fine, sort of safe place. My bra wasn’t a good contender at this time), up in one of the cupboards out of Littleboy1’s reach (I didn’t feel doodles of stickmen being stabbed with blue carrots was the perfect solution to solving this issue - then again, maybe they’d actually pay me, if I threatened to stab them with colourful and sharp vegetables…).

Fine, I’ll admit it. I forgot about it for a couple of days. Maybe it’d have been even longer if I hadn’t desperately required the cheese grater for Littleboy1 (he wanted cheese on toast, and I was too stressed to say no). That’s when I found the bloody letter.

My screams could be heard in the whole neighbourhood, so much so that Hubby even came running (and that’s when you know you’ve screamed loudly).

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and I could see the pain in his eyes, the pain that was dragging him away from his work (God knows why he’s so in love with it all).

“I. Forgot. All. About. The. Starbucks. Letter.”

Hubby raised his eyebrows lazily. “Let’s call the police shall we?” was his sarcastic remark.

“Police? Police? What police? Why police? When police? How police? Where police?” Littleboy1 had transformed into a budgerigar.

This is my everyday life.

After running all the way down to Starbucks (I felt that if I drove I could ‘accidentally’ lose control and kill myself) I panicked.

What do I do here? Do I just go inside and give it to the person behind the counter? Do I ask for the manager and give it to him?!

So, I went inside. So far so good, I thought. There wasn’t a big queue, so I just, slowly, walked forwards. When the man in front of me had just got his coffee, I was scared shitless. What if it happened again? I wasn’t wearing very gripping shoes - bad move. I gingerly stepped forward, rubbing my foot ferociously against the tiles for signs of liquid. I then realised I looked like a psychopath, and so stopped and smiled.

The woman behind the counter retreated in horror a bit, and so I just thrust the envelope at her.

“W-What’s this?” she asked, warily touching it as if it were a bomb.

“It’s a letter for the manager,” I said, confidently (where did that come from?), “and I’d appreciate it if you gave it to him straight away. It’s urgent.”

I then turned my back on her and walked out, my dignity intact, my head high, and walked straight home.

I will now wait for my vouchers.