Apparently, Tracey’s bum intends making frequent appearances on our trip.
Bravo, I say!
Only the previous morning Tracey had been horrified to wake up and realise her bare ‘back’ was pointed out a rather large gap in the curtains at people out for their morning walk because she’d bumped against the window at some point through the night.
I say horrified but that wasn’t the prevailing emotion. Amusement quickly took over as we found ourselves giggling and wondering if they’d managed to hold down breakfast and wishing like crazy we could have seen their faces.
Then life on a bus provided.
Our beautiful bus is proving to be a tight space in ways I didn’t envisage. For me, wonderful ways. For others in the family, maybe not so much.
That’s something you don’t see every day, I grinned to myself as Tracey’s nightie caught on something and refused to slide out of bed with the rest of her. Buttocks were revealed, working their way over the edge of our bed as she wiggled her way down until her feet touched the ground. Rather pleasingly, she appeared to be knickerless – something I wished I’d known about before I crawled out of bed only minutes earlier.
Then I remembered Master11 was standing behind me demanding something to eat as Tracey dismounted.
I say remembered, but the fact is my recalling this point had some prompting.
“Jeezus! Mum!” Master11 bellowed, dashing any hope my not inconsiderable bulk had blocked him from his mother’s best angle.
“What?” Tracey asked with such genuine innocence it was clear she had no idea what she’d just done.
“You sort of flashed your everything straight down the length of the bus,” I told her. I hated myself for having to suggest the next bit. “Maybe you should wear undies.”
“I am,” said Tracey, taken aback. Not surprising really, because she always does. “I am!” she called over my shoulder to Master11, who now appeared to be in the process gouging his eyes out. “Look!” she added, pointing her hip at him and lifting her nightie yet again. “They’re just skin coloured.”
“Anyway, it’s only a bum.”
“But it’s your bum! Would you like to see your Mum’s bum?” I admitted I wouldn’t. “It’s disgusting!” he said, pushing his point. Then he maybe pushed it a mite too far, “And it’s so wrinkly!”
“Hey,” said Tracey, pretending to be hurt when I knew full well she couldn’t give a toss about the odd blemish on her most excellent hindquarters. Unless, you know, it’s pointed out a window at innocent bystanders.
“Sorry,” mumbled Master11. Then he added in a beaten, obedient, not entirely convincing sort of monotone, “Your ass is amazing, Mum.”
“Cereal?” I asked him, holding up a bowl.
“I’m really not hungry anymore,” he said.
So yay, now we know.
Raising a family on little more than laughs