It's that time of year, dear readers.
People wear hideous jumpers 'ironically', Starbucks' red cups litter the ground and the smell of donkey poop is in the air.
It must be Christmas.
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| I'm onto you, Donkey Face. |
Don't be fooled by my flippant comments about Christmas, dear readers; I love it.
From the music to the food to the drinks to the board games to the smell of cloves in EVERYTHING.
I seriously love Christmas and can usually be found curled up in a corner making snowflakes or brightly coloured paper chains.
Given my love of Christmas (and my family) it seemed only fitting that my sister and I join our dear mother at her school's Christmas fete.
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| Nothing like this. In case you were wondering. |
Among the home made games stalls, tombola and bric-a-brac stalls there was a glorious tea, bacon sandwich and cake stand.
It was here that we found refuge from the bitter winds and sat down for a cuppa.
As my mother works at the school, lots of children would say hello or chat to her and, as a former small human myself, I have a fondness for the cute little snotballs.
And so it was that I found myself talking to one such small human that we shall call Freddy. Freddy was a friendly, if slightly shy, boy and so when I engaged him in conversation I was rather proud of myself as it seemed that he had opened up to me.
As the Christmas carols filtered across the playground and the welcoming scent of bacon hung in the cold December air, Freddy and I bonded.
Until our conversation went as follows:-
Me: So Freddy, how old do you think I am? Because Mrs J is my Mum.
Freddy: Err..I don't know. ...22?
Me: Well, that's very close Freddy! I'm actually 25 so that was a very good guess indeed.
Freddy: ....I said 32.
Me: Oh.
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| I'll just be over here...tears falling down my 32(!!) year old looking face. |
So yeah...turns out I'm not all that fond of snotballs after all.
Sorry Mum, add another few years onto the waiting list for grandchildren.
&&Fin.
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