Why Mummy can’t actually kill Daddy

“Let’s go out,” says Daddy. “It will make you feel better and I can pretend to like conversation and the outdoors whilst surreptitiously guiding you towards a pub.”

“OK,” says Mummy, “when would you like to go out?”

“Now,” says Daddy, reaching for his coat.

“Right,” says Mummy, “we just need to get The Baby ready.”

“Right,” says Daddy looking at his watch, “as long as we are back in time for the football.”

Mummy goes upstairs to change The Baby, leaving Daddy downstairs with the pushchair. The pushchair is covered in all manner of things that have been dumped on it, and still has the massive raincover from yesterday which is clearly not needed now it is sunny.

Mummy changes The Baby and comes downstairs.

“Are you ready now?” says Daddy.

“Not yet. I need to get to the pushchair and take off the raincover and pack some nappies in the bag and put The Baby in her snowsuit and put on my coat and shoes,” says Mummy.

“Right,” says Daddy.

Mummy starts taking everything off the pushchair. She does not mention to Daddy that he could save time by folding up the rain cover, or packing the changing bag, or putting The Baby in her snowsuit. Daddy does not like being told what to do and calls it nagging, and also she would have to explain to Daddy how to do any of those things and that would take longer than just doing them herself.

Mummy dries off the rain cover and folds it and packs it under the pushchair. It is hard to get it back into the miniature bag it came out of but Mummy can do it because she is superwoman.

“Are you ready now?” says Daddy.

“Not yet,” says Mummy. “I need to pack the changing bag and put The Baby in her snowsuit and put on my coat and shoes.

“Right,” says Daddy, for subtle hints do not work on him. Obvious hints do not really work either.

And then Daddy says, “Oooh, I have found a biscuit in my pocket!” Daddy produces an individually wrapped chocolate Hobnob which has been crushed beyond recognition, apparently from spending a good amount of time in his inside pocket. “I don’t even know how that got there!” Daddy looks mightily pleased and surprised as he begins to unwrap the crushed culinary treasure he has unexpectedly procured.

“Please don’t drop crumbs from your ancient biscuit all over the rug I have just hoovered,” begs Mummy as she stuffs nappies into the changing bag and fishes out old ones which have been festering in plastic bags since yesterday.

“Right,” says Daddy.

Mummy finds the snowsuit which is buried under the coats and hats and scarves and gloves, and starts trying to persuade The Baby into it. It is no easy task – Rebel Baby twists and kicks and tries to chew the zips as Mummy wrestles her right foot in, then rolls over and starts eating the hood while Mummy begins work on the left.

Perhaps Daddy can strap her in the buggy while I get my coat and shoes on, thinks Mummy. She decides this small request could possibly be very carefully phrased in a way to not sound too much like being bossy or nagging, and rehearses it in her head while she contorts The Baby into the sleeves.

Mummy looks up, but Daddy is nowhere to be found.

“Darling?” calls Mummy, fighting with the unnecessary number of zips and poppers as The Baby wriggles and squirms.

“Darling?” calls Mummy a little louder, pinning The Baby into the pushchair with one knee while she locates the straps and buckles that all seem to have either disappeared or mysteriously adjusted themselves to no longer fit.

Darling?” she calls louder still as she clicks them into place and rocks the buggy with one foot to stop The Baby protesting, while doing up her shoelaces.

DARLING?” wails Mummy, throwing on her coat inside out and upside down whilst slinging a changing bag over one shoulder and bumping the buggy one-handed out of the front door and down the step.

Daddy is standing peacefully in the sunshine, looking at his watch.

“What are you doing out here?” asks Mummy. “I was going as fast as I could…”

“Yes,” says Daddy, “I came out here to eat my biscuit.”

Mummy looks at Daddy with murder in her heart.

“I saved you half,” says Daddy. “It’s a bit squashed.”

Not the actual one. But Mummy was too busy eating it to take a photo.

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