This Is What You Get When You Mess With Us
I think we all feel like this today.
Because of the wonders of Facebook, I know, for certain, that everyone else in the civilised world went to see Radiohead last night. I am not being paranoid or exaggerating. It’s just a Radiohead fact. But whatever. Grass is always greener and all that. They’re probably all wishing they got to have their two-year-old stay awake until 9 pm, then eat lukewarm curry on the sofa in silence with their spouse, then fall asleep at 9.30, only to be woken at 1, 2, 3, and all the other numbers until they let their toddler move into their bed, whereupon she fell asleep like a victorious starfish until 6.30, when she announced ‘I’m hungry. I need porridge. Daddy, I need you to make me porridge in the kitchen.’
The reasons cited by May Blossom for the bad night have been a) sore teeth b) sore hair and c) dinosaurs. I call bullshit on the sore hair one.
Oh, and during the starfish hours her unborn partner in crime practised for the state championships of Internal Organ Kickboxing.
Far. Out. Some days I don’t think we are winning at this.