My son’s creativity has started to really blossom lately. He keeps on inventing elaborate and often bizarre stories about a variety of real and imaginary characters. I had been finding this hilarious, but I think now he is experiencing some kind of end-of-Summer school holiday fatigue. Maybe he’s getting bored of my face, because the little rascal’s only gone and made up an imaginary mother.
Her name is Steak.
She has red hair and blue eyes.
She can drive and has a red car.
She lives just down the road and has two other kids (Stetch and Daniel, apparently) who he can play with everyday.
She has a dog called Tommy.
She ‘does working’ and goes to a different gym to me.
And yesterday, just to add insult to injury, he said ‘she has more moneys than you’.
Part of me thinks this is really funny, and part of me worries he’s making up for my shortcomings as a mother (and even as a human being).
The blasted woman’s got it good! She didn’t give birth to him for 18 hours, she doesn’t clothe him, feed him, nurse him when he’s sick, pick up his toys, put up with his tantrums, scold him when he’s naughty, endure him when he’s whining. She doesn’t wipe his bottom. I bet she hasn’t even got stretchmarks, THE BITCH!!!!!!
I’ve got one thing on her though. HER NAME IS BLOODY RUBBISH.