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THE SECRET DIARY OF A 3 YEAR OLD

MONDAY
‘Aww, have you had an accident?’ IT’S NOT AN ACCIDENT IF I DID IT ON PURPOSE, DICKSPLATS. Consider that a dirty protest.

TUESDAY
This potty training reward chart is so patronising. Pissed myself today on principle.

WEDNESDAY
Fair play, whoever renovates our house from a post-apocalyptic shit tip into something vaguely inhabitable while I’m in bed deserves all the plaudits. Hope the Big People are grateful to whoever that poor fucker is.

THURSDAY
Mummy needs to understand that when I scream:
‘MUMMMMMMY! FIX ITTTT!’
what I’m trying to convey is:
‘Mother, I have observed that you are presently attempting to transport a rancid potty that brims with hot piss whilst struggling with the upstairs baby gate, but could you please just give me some small assurance that when your current task concludes satisfactorily you will assist me in fast-forwarding these tiresome YouTube ads in order that I may continue to watch Little Baby Bum videos that will ultimately rot my brain?’

FRIDAY
Aimed my toddler-todger the wrong way on the potty. Whazzed all over my hand. Touched Daddy three times on the face to thank him for his assistance.

SATURDAY
Daddy stupidly told me about his plans for later on which meant I wanted to do them right now. That silly fucker never learns.

SUNDAY
Accidentally dummy-shamed a 6 year old in the park by casually remarking to Mummy that she was a baby while pointing directly at her face. I didn’t mean to cause offence (what’s wrong with being a baby?) but she unleashed a barrage of abuse in my direction that honestly had no place near the roundabout. I would have pointed to her eloquent and multisyllabic diatribe as proof that she had, in fact, outgrown the use of dummies but I was far too busy trying not to soil my big boy pants to put together a coherent retort.

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