Happiness is a weed bouquet

I visited Pollyworld yesterday. It wasn’t such a bad place. Me and the Sprogs took the Polly Pockets on a beach holiday. They lazed about on hammocks on the Polly boat, drinking plastic cocktails and contemplating their next wardrobe change. There was lots of plastic pizza and ice-cream. It was pretty cool. I’d quite enjoy a holiday like that myself.

Before I even considered huddling in the corner for some psychically distressed rocking, Sprog 1 suggested some fresh air might be nice. She’s growing into the most lovely creature. It was a bit soggy outside, so we decided to forgo the park and walk 45 minutes to the nearest shopping metropolis – me graciously accepting gifts of weed-flower bouquets along the way.

Normally I would drive to the nearest shopping metropolis, but Husband had driven the car to a Sunday shift at work. I figured a little exercise would do us good after indulging in a Boxing Day in July feast of bacon, eggs, pancakes and maple syrup for breakfast, followed by two-minute noodles and leftover reindeer cupcakes for lunch.

When we finally arrived at the temple of commercialism, we were (somehow) hungry again, so we nibbled on cucumber sushi brfore arguing heatedly about which plastic crap to buy at Toys R Us (the Sprogs still had some holiday pocket money leftover from Nonna). Sprog 2 got all pouty when I refused to let her have a creepy baby doll that giggled and bounced up and down in a carboard cot. I think it was motion sensitive because it would started manically cackling and jiggling whenever we walked past, like something out of a crappy ’80s horror movie.

Fortunately, it cost way more than her remaining stash of cash. And I, for once in my pleaser life, said NO.

Eventually, after much whingeing about the unfairness of life when mummy won’t let you have a $50 possessed doll, we settled on a couple of battery-operated crabs that were on mega-sale. Then we limped 45 minutes home again in the fading afternoon light, Sprog 1 draping my arm around her shoulder at regular intervals and me graciously accepting gifts of weed-flower bouquets along the way.

When we finally got back, I chilled a bottle of rose and turned some of the vastly overcatered turkey sausages from Christmas in July into curry. My legs hurt but my head was at peace.

I can think of worse ways to spend a Sunday. I can think of better …

It was nice.


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