Ewwww, gross!

Sprog 1 stayed home sick yesterday. We passed the time unconventionally. First, we watched the Orlando DVD I’d bought Husband for Fathers Day. Not technically a kiddie flick (understatement), but Sprog 1 appeared quite engrossed and refused all offers to turn it off. Then we glued together her Daily Telegraph T-rex model (quite difficult, I may revise my plan to buy the 15-model series). After lunch, we surfed the internet for gross party food ideas – her 8th birthday concept has evolved from spooky to gross. Some of the photos turned my stomach, so I’ve no idea how her delicate, post-vomitting-bug constitution coped. The white chocolate ribcage filled with cake organs was particularly disturbing. We’ve decided on cupcakes decorated with plastic flies, stuffed date “cockroaches” with chive antennas, dead fingers made out of chipolata sausages (with bits of cooked onion for nails and tomato sauce decorating the “severed” ends), used band-aid cookies, a bowl of jelly worms, and Oreo spiders. Sprog 1 is keen on “brains” on crackers as well, but mini-brain moulds appear to be in short supply in Australia. The grand finale will be an “eyeball soup” birthday cake. I’ve ceased badgering the pirate entertainer about going zombie and am pursuing a “gross science” theme instead. It involves “real scientists” coming over to make vomit bombs, fake blood, popping pimples etc. I’m not entirely sure how it’ll go down with her female classmates – she may be forever labelled as “the weird girl who had that disgusting party” –  but Sprog 1 is pumped.

PS A delivery from our wine club arrived yesterday too. I was gleefully unpacking it when, at about bottle five, I realised they were all rose. Now, I like a rose, but 12 seemed excessive. I texted Husband. who said he’d definitely ordered mixed whites. As we both hate a fuss, he suggested we just pretend it never happened. But I wanted to check we hadn’t been overcharged (rose not usually being a premium drop). They were very apologetic/perplexed about the situation when I called. I asked if it was a nice vintage. The woman hesitated slightly, before describing it as “unusual” and “gamey”. Not two words I usually want associated with my wine. But she offered the case to me at half price, so I graciously accepted. As I examined one of the bottles more closely, I noticed it featured a label painted by the woman whose art exhibition sparked marital discord with Husband. Fancy that! Husband was thrilled to have such a lasting reminder of our disharmony.  

TONIGHT’S MENU: Still wading through the vat of spag bol sitting in the fridge.