Today I discovered my son is the master of petty.
I decided I needed to get out for a bit, so to lure him out I said we should go play football.
He got his trainers and started putting them on “Woah buddy!!! Where are you socks?”
“Mummy, please get my socks.”
I stared at him. Clearly the Babalawo that sold him the charm had travelled because I was done running errands for this particular man. “Get your socks yourself mate.”
He did not look impressed. I did not care. I started putting on my socks and got distracted. I reached for my trainers and they were gone. You cannot be serious!
I looked at him and he smiled at me. I was not impressed and he could see it. Was he afraid though, did he tremble at the potential of my wrath descending on him like hot lava from Mount Vesuvius? Nope.
My sister ‘Chelle said when they go low, we go high. So, I rose above and with my peach ankle socks in rubber slippers I went on a search for my trainers. I looked for my trainers for over 20 minutes, with the boy laughing and following behind. Nothing!
Finally, I turned to him and demanded he give me back my trainers. He said he would help me find my trainers after I helped him find his socks. I cannot believe that this little human being could break me down like this. Please believe we found his socks before he pulled out my trainers from behind a flowerpot.
If he’s only six, I shudder to think what he will do when he is 16.
