Ah, One of ‘Those’ Days!

One of 'those' days.

Ever had one of those days? One of those days where you wish you hadn’t bothered leaving the snuggly embrace of your duvet to go and face the world?

Rhetorical question, right?! We all have!

It usually starts as one of those unremarkable days. A standard Saturday or something. A day when everything happens to be just ticking along fine at the point the F*ck Up Fairy flutters along and takes a peek through your window, observes the calm and routine of the day, and thinks, wait, what? oh, this just won’t do.

My brother had a little visit from said fairy (let’s call it the FUF) this weekend, and told me a charming tale of how his day started when he was laying semi-comatose on his sofa and my nephew was watching TV.

Or so it was believed…

Little did he know my nephew had quietly shuffled off to a corner and fallen suspiciously quiet. And little did he expect their next interaction to be his little one gently placing a freshly whipped, steaming, poo-patty into his hand. 

From that moment, he knew it was going to be one of those days.

Of course, you don’t need to be a parent to have one of those days. It just helps. 

We had one a couple of Saturdays ago when we were preparing to go away on holiday. 

The day started off fairly normal. We were doing a bit of packing. We broke it up with a couple of games – a bit of Bingo and Uno. I even let my youngest get out the Characters box, knowing she’d lump me with having to play Mike and Sully from Monsters Inc., despite my best John Goodman and Billy Crystal voices being so bad, if we were in Mediaeval times, I’d be put in the stocks and be peppered with dead rats.

Anyway, we’re heading to dinner. By this point, both my wife and I have given our eldest daughter separate reprimands. From me, one about ignoring me over and over again about helping with the packing. And from my wife, something equally serious. Biting the Postman’s hand when he was posting stuff through the letterbox or something like that. 

However, dinner comes around and this is when the FUF pulls up a chair and starts helping itself to the potatoes. 

My daughter, harbouring the telling offs, cries throughout the whole meal and stomps off to her room as soon as she’s finished. My son doesn’t eat anything (which is weird in itself), and quickly reveals why by chundering all over my feet in the kitchen a few minutes after. 

My youngest, noting she’s getting no attention and keen to put a stop to that, starts playing up and telling us she feels sick too. 

Then, while I’m wiping my son’s noodly lunch from between my toes, a cry pierced the air from my daughter’s room, who’d managed to hop off her bed and knee herself in the face, giving her a perfect black eye just in time for the upcoming school photos. 

The FUF, satisfied that our night was ruined, nodded in a my work here is done kind of way and then fluttered out of the window to go and bugger up someone else’s day.

The rest of the night was keeping a hawk’s eye on our son, ensuring our youngest had just enough attention to keep her onboard and reassuring our eldest daughter that, if needed, makeup can do wonders.

Fortunately, none of the night’s shenanigans were anything really serious and life was able to resume as normal the following day. My son’s sickness had passed, my daughter’s black eye wasn’t as bad as we’d originally thought, and my youngest’s feelings of attention sickness had passed too, leaving her time to once again start thinking deeply about some of life’s greatest questions, such as what she’d like to name her butt cheeks.

She finally settled on Salt and Pepper.

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