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The Secret Diary of a 2 Year Old (Part 49)

MONDAY
Managed to evade capture from the authorities just before bathtime (while totally bollocko) so went and laid low under the Big People’s duvet. God knows how but I ended up INSIDE the fucking thing and couldn’t get out. Felt like I was lost inside a big fluffy cloud which was fun for a bit (three seconds) and then suddenly scary when I realised I was stuck. Mummy tried to coax me back to the opening but I was too busy screaming to listen to instructions so Daddy reached inside and said I was ‘like a bloody hamster’ (whatever that means) as he pulled me out. The whole experience was more traumatic than being born. Anyway, in the confusion I managed to lay some dirty cables inside the duvet. They won’t find those for ages.
TUESDAY
Sneezed all over my toast so offered it to Mummy. She didn’t want it so I got upset and broke it into smaller pieces but astonishingly she still wasn’t keen so I lovingly ground it up into snotty toast dust and offered it to her again. She finally saw sense and accepted my generous offer although it turns out she was only PRETENDING to eat it because a few seconds later she stood up to put a load of snotty toast dust in the bin which was obviously mine so I screamed that, in fact, I wanted that snotty toast dust back if she wasn’t going to eat it so she put it back on my plate and I spent an absolute age licking my finger and finishing it off. Bon appetit!
WEDNESDAY
Offered a pigeon a crisp today but he just flew away. Ungrateful git.
THURSDAY
Daddy said I could have the telly on before bed and I got dead excited but then he went and ruined it by putting bloody Number Blocks on! Why the frig would I want to watch an educational show after a long day playing and learning? I know for a fact when Daddy gets in from work he doesn’t watch boring programmes about the complicated internal mechanisms of the European common market, he watches shite. So I want to watch shite too. And by shite, I mean In the Night Garden.
FRIDAY
Was playing with the clothes pegs and pegging Daddy’s t-shirt and he was pretending he didn’t want to be pegged but I’m pretty sure he was playing along because I got about six on him and we were both laughing and having a lovely time and then I put a peg in my mouth and Daddy told me no but raised his voice ever so slightly so I panicked and let go and then HOLY FUCKING GREENDALE the bloody thing pegged my tongue! The pain was incredible but I couldn’t cry properly because I had a peg stuck to my tongue which threw me a bit and made me sound like an hysterical goose. Daddy got it off quite quickly and I calmed down and went back to pegging his t-shirt for a bit until I got bored and decided to put a peg on my lip to see if that hurt too. (It did.)
SATURDAY
I can’t stand up on the sofa, you won’t let me throw toys at the glass window and I’m not allowed to shove my hands down my pants. So what you’re saying is, IF SOMETHING’S FUN, DON’T DO IT? Jesus. No wonder all the Big People drink.
SUNDAY
Took the kite to the park which was the most excited I’d been since I found that old biscuit under the fridge but there was no wind so the whole trip was pointless. I tried to do a big fart but Mummy said we needed more wind than that so I suggested getting Daddy to come down because then we’d be in business but she said he was at work. As I was sobbing with disappointment she tried to blame something called ‘the weather’ but I wasn’t in the mood for the usual Big People spin tactics. Had my finger hovering over the tantrum button but called it off at the last second. Sometimes you’ve got to pick your battles.

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