Firstly, I admit I’m a little biased on the subject. Secondly, in doing this post I’ve just realised Tracey is even more conniving than I thought.
Thank you to Johnsons Baby for supporting our family and sponsoring this post.
I came out of this smelling like roses.
“What’s that smell?” Master11 asked me this morning as he stumbled into the kitchen…
“I need underarm,” Master11 informed us.
I’m not sure I’m cut out for helping teach maths in my daughter’s class.
First things first, I think it’s important I point out right from the start Tracey knows I’m writing this. You’ll see why.
I have never understood how people can’t smell themselves.
“Oh. My. God!” said Tracey suddenly. She cupped her mouth and a horrid sort of look appeared on her face. Something was majorly wrong…
Every three months or so my wife spring cleans the house and my role, during this mass exodus of stuff to the dump, is to place myself between my wife and the wheely bin and try to save as much of my crap as I can.