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The Secret Diary of a 3 Year Old

MONDAY
Wanted to learn some new swear words. Hid Daddy’s car keys. Bingo.

TUESDAY
Mummy told me off for twanging my willie like a dirty trouser banjo in Asda. But she never mentioned Tesco so I whipped out the sweet-meat for a virtuoso cock solo in the bread aisle that forced her to smother my nether regions with a brioche loaf. #makingmemories

WEDNESDAY
Daddy needs to buck his ideas up when wiping my arse. Nevermind my crazy post-dump yoga moves, he’s too experienced to be smearing it up my back like that.

THURSDAY
If Bedtime Avoidance was an Olympic sport I’d have a Nike sponsorship by now. Tonight’s delaying tactics included 2 drinks, 1 poo (phantom), 1 poo (real) and 7 tuck-in requests. I’m world class.

FRIDAY
Made a new friend today. A true pal. I never caught her name or indeed had any interaction with her whatsoever, but I sobbed when we had to leave both the park, and indeed, all our good times behind. I swore to myself I’d never forget her but if I’m honest, I stopped giving a fuck by the time we got to the main path.

SATURDAY
I’m definitely gonna be an astronaut. That or Batman. I’ve already got the relevant pyjamas.

SUNDAY
Was pondering life today. The infinite wonder of being and the sheer joy of being alive in this precise moment in our small corner of the universe. I was just beginning to surrender to the moment, let go of what was and have faith in what will be, when I fell off the bog and twatted my head on the sink. Bastard.

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