Friday, 16 March 2018

The Secret Diary of a 2 Year Old

Fell into the recycling. Couldn’t get out. Rolled around like a knobhead. Sat in a soggy bit. Put my finger inside a Dolmio jar. It hadn’t been rinsed properly. Ended up sobbing a salty balance of ripe tomatoes with a pinch of herbs and spices. Fuming.

Was chewing on some plastic until Mummy said it was Daddy’s memory stick so spat it straight out. I don’t want his memories. Look at his face. It looks like a wallet.

Top tip for toddlers: Wriggling around like an emotionally distressed pilchard while The Bastards attempt to imprison you inside your last nappy of the day concludes in sweet revenge when you wake the fuckers up with the subsequent hot piss spillage.
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Suddenly needed a poo while in the bath but this time managed to alert the authorities and arrange rapid transport to the shitter. Released my chocolate hostage into it’s natural habitat like a total champ as everyone clapped and cheered. Felt like Elvis. Guess I’m a big boy now.

Mummy was taking a dump so burst into the bathroom shouting ‘HOORAY!’ but apparently ‘not everyone needs encouragement’ which made me feel like a right wally because I’d been cheering on the dog in the back garden all morning.

If you REALLY have to cut my toenails then fine. But for the divine sake of Madame Gazelle please don’t use that medieval torture device that came in the cheap-as-fuck Christmas crackers you incompetent arsebadgers.

Daddy was hungover. I suggested a game of hide and seek. He said I should hide and he’d ‘count to Tuesday.’ I’ll never understand adult humour.


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