Bollocks – another Saturday morning disturbed by the door bell. It should be illegal to ring on door bells before 1pm on a weekend. Not only do I have to contend with some random at the door but I have to deal with Summers obsession with answering it as quick as she can, No matter what is going on, how partially dressed we both may be she will haul ass and sprint to the open the door regardless that my nunny may be on show or that part time dad is strutting around in those ridiculous fertility killer boxer shorts.
So there it was, the door bell going off, Summer running down the stairs with just a vest on and me scrambling to find some leggings to cover my hairy legs before she exposes me. I scream at her to stop, cover up, don’t answer the sodding door!!!!
‘’who the hell is it?’’ Summer bellows through the letterbox.
Leggings, leggings where are my leggings?
‘’is you mother in?’’ I can hear a man’s voice question – god I hope she covered up
‘’she is getting dressed – is that for me?’’
God what is going on down there – she has opened the door – leggings where are my leggings
‘’it is a magazine that we are giving out, it’s for your mother, Jesus can save you, do you believe in Jesus little one’’
‘’yeah she is ok but I think Rhianna is better’’ says Summer
Sod the leggings – I’m leaving Summer to it
‘’maybe you could get your mummy?’’
‘’no.....what’s in the magazine?’’
‘’it’s about how to raise a child’’ this preacher must see the ironic situation he is in right now!! ‘’there are a lot of bad children out there – look at the rioters this summer, they were children’’
‘’ no, cha, that’s lies... the man who gave my nan the TV was huge and fat..... he wasn’t a child’’
Shhiittt leggings, leggings got to get down there
‘’and my dad was saving the burning puppy shop at the riots and he is not a child, i mean he is stupid but he is like 57 or 80 and he smokes, so he isn’t a child. Mum couldn’t go to the riots, she was sick, she did a pee in a cup and left me for 2 days, I saw fires’’
‘’is your dad home? Your mum?’’
‘’I’m coming’’ , just.... got..... to...... squeeze.... . into.... these..... Skinny....jeans
I get to the door panting and chaffed to see this visiting Jehovah and his petrified 10 year old son hiding behind him. Before I can say a word he thrust the parenting manual into my hand, squeezes my arm sympathetically. Grabs his son and legs it down the road.