Warning: There is a high danger of gagging by the end of this story.
I stepped out of a relaxing shower and into hell.
“Aggh!” came screams from outside the bathroom door. “Daaa-ad!”
The door was flung open and Miss8 and Master10 stood there retching and screaming for blood.
“Call the doctor, Dad!” yelled Master10, while his sister mostly just moaned loudly beside him. “Quick!”
Expecting the worst, I asked them what had happened. I was thinking they’d drunk bleach or some cleaning fluid, or jabbed themselves with a syringe they’d found in the yard. Awful thoughts filled my head in the couple of seconds it took them to point accusingly at their little sister. And of all the scenarios beating each other up for my headspace, I wasn’t expecting, even vaguely, the one they came up with.
“She gave us pizza!” they accused, shooting eye daggers at their little sister, Miss3.
“She gave us a slice of pizza,” Miss8 snarled menacingly.
I knew there was a slice left over from last night. I didn’t know anyone else did.
Oh, well, I thought to myself, toast it is.
They were still looking up at me expectantly.
“The little cow,” I said, then I chuckled even as my Inner Tracey admonished me for language. “Honestly, that’s a nice thing she’s done for you. You should be happy.”
“Dad, listen,” said Master10. “We halved it between us, and then,” he went on, his voice rising in pitch, “we ate it!”
“What am I missing here,” I wanted to know.
There was a little more gagging at this point before they howled in unison, “She’d dropped it in a cat bowl!”
I bet you think this is the gaggy bit I warned you about. Nope.
“We’re gonna die!” added a nearly tearful Master10. He’s always the more sensible and grounded of the two.
Miss3 ran off about now, crushed her older siblings were upset with her.
I’d like to say I stopped chuckling, but I didn’t. In fact, I chuckled all the way into the bedroom where I found Miss3 hiding under her dresses in the wardrobe. What I found most amusing is Miss3 didn’t hand me the pizza. I wouldn’t have shared.
I coaxed my youngest out and we returned to the scene of the crime. I had a plan. I figured the worst which could happen is we’d confirm they’d indeed eaten pizza with the essence of cat food. At best, we could put this behind us. I certainly couldn’t see how I could be worse off.
“Did you,” I asked Miss3, pointing at the cats’ bowls and hoping like hell she was going to play along with me, “drop the pizza into one of these bowls?”
“No,” she said.
“See, I told you,” I said to the two very sick looking kids in front of me. They actually seemed to relax a bit and I could see the morning settling down to our usual unorganised calmishness. “She probably just dropped it on the floor or something,” I added, even as Miss3 was pushing past my leg to point at something behind me.
“No, I didn’t,” she said, pointing proudly and looking up at the rest of us. “I drop it in there.”
Who’d have thought there could be something worse than a cats’ bowl? Who’d have thought our morning could get even worse?
I guess a tray full of kitty litter will do that.
You can gag now…
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”