Halloween and uses and mis-uses for children.
Huzzah! Huzzah for Halloween. This is my favourite holiday. Actually this is my favourite time of year. I am very much an autumn type of gal. I love the colours, the weather, the smell of decaying leaves, the darkening evenings, yep, I'm pretty in my element right about now.
Also I like Halloween. I like scary movies, eating my own body weight in jellies, and all the kids going around in their costumes, as long as those costumes don't them look like hookers from Vegas. I mean, seriously.
I like that you can wander into town and see people wearing devil horns and rabbit ears. It's funny, and because it's a short holiday it's much less bloody wearing than christmas. So yay for Halloween. I have goodies here inside the door for the trick or treaters. They better come this year, I can't eat that much mini Mars and milky way bars. ( or caaaann I?)
Anyway, this neatly brings me on to my next topic, the use and misuse of small children. T'was the bold Gimmie who reminded me of this tale, as he fought the sugar rush and breakage wrecked upon his home by his beloved child.
Sometimes small children and sugar are a very bad combination.
Very recently I was sitting in the kitchen of my eldest sister's home. We were both drinking shiraz, she was cooking, I was flicking through Hello Magazine while her brood argued back and forth over Bratz dolls, (the boy was trying to behead them, the girl was trying to save them and the baby was trying to eat them).
I watched them battle it out for a few moments. 'They're very excitable today are they not?'
'Their granny was here earlier, she brought Smarties with her.'
'You know how they get.'
'I do indeed. I can hear how they get.'
Then my sister told me a story.
She has a friend who has separated from her husband of ten years. Well, he left her, for much younger totty. So natch she's just the tiniest bit touchy and bitter-even though she got the fine house and the kids. Frankly he wasn't all that, I'd take a house over his lady patch hair and moobular self any day but then that's just me.
Where was I? Oh yes. Well he takes the kids every other weekend- they have a girl of eight and a boy of four. According to my sister-and I have no reason to doubt the veracity of this, the night before old wandering dick picks them up, she-the mother- lets them stay up as late as they want, gets them up early the next morning and lets them drink coke and eat crap before they are picked up. Cue, two hours later, a vicious sugar drop and cranky, wild, teary, exhausted children and a stressed father and a new girlfriend who is convinced the kids hate her and that they might just be spawn of the devil and really, she's doesn't like moobs that much.
I did point out to my sister that this woman an absolute shite for using her children as weapons, but my sister just shrugged and went back to making cottage pie while yelling at her own crew to stop fighting so loudly. Or if they were going to kill each other take it into a different room.
I took a sip of wine and stole a carrot and resolved to store this story for future fatcat imaginary children that might one day be babysat by my mother.
Using children as pawns in marriage, I am against it!
Dressing dogs in capes, I'm all for it!