The word embarrassment is taking a whole new meaning when you have a chatty toddler around to rat on you to perfect strangers.
In the drugstore: Mummy has an Ouchy in her bum.
In the bar: Mummy has a crush on you.
At the mall: Mummy’s gotta pee.
At the groceries: Mummy said she won’t beat me if I eat my broccoli.
At a family event: Mummy asked Santa for a Prince, not a potato peeler. (At this point, Santa will do, kid).
At the doctor’s: Mummy says she has no life.
At a welfare office: Mummy works at her computer all day long so she can buy me a crown.
At the boss’s: How long are you two going to talk?
At the zoo: Mummy says her life is a fucking zoo.
Somehow I am not worried about my daughter’s social life. She is friends with the flower girl. She is friends with the janitor. She is friends with the water guy. She is friends with the susi guy. I am friends with no one.
I also know I am not having unprotected sex with anyone with as much as a drop of Irish blood in them in the next hundred years. Even if it means 98% of the population of the Earth.
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