Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1748
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(aka Bike) Part 1748 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad
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“So do we let them go with Henry and Monica?” I asked my newly masterful hubby.
“D’you have any real objections?” he threw back at me.
“Only the logistics of making sure they all have passports. Does Jacquie have one?”
“How do I know? You’re the one who employed her originally.”
“I’ll ask her, besides does she want to go?”
“Is the baby going?” he asked almost hoping I’d say yes.
“No, what would she get out of such a trip apart from heatstroke?”
“Well Stella’s taking her two.”
“Yes, she breast feeds Fiona and Pud might just be old enough to have some fun.”
“She could feed Catherine for us.”
“What d’ya think these are for?” I pointed at my chest.
“Li’l ol’ me, mummykins,” he said rolling his eyes. I didn’t even answer him except with a shake of my head.
“So they can go?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“What about Sammi?”
“She wants to work and the IT manager was keen to have her work with him.”
“I take it she’ll go with you, back and fore?”
“Might as well.”
“So, you’re not taking any time off then?”
“I’ll see what I can arrange, perhaps a long weekend next week.”
“How about zipping over to see some of the Tour?”
“What tour?”
“The Tour.”
“Nah, doesn’t ring any bells,” he teased trying to play stupid, but the twinkle in his eyes gave away his deception.
“Oh well, I’ll have to get my lover to take me.”
“Yeah, carry on–see if I care.”
“Oh, what about Sammi?”
“What about Sammi?” he asked looking perplexed.
“We’d have to take her with us, I suppose.”
“Tom will still be here, with the dog, so it’s not as if she’d be alone at night, is it? You could organise a season ticket to Waterloo.”
“You’d better ask her.”
“I’ll go and ask her while you tell the rest of them they can go if they behave themselves between now and their holiday. Any messing and they don’t go.”
“That would mean we couldn’t go either, babes.”
“Well sometimes it hurts to hold principles.”
“But it’s The Tour.” He made that annoying gesture of quotation marks with his fingers.
“Okay, a bit of menace can sometimes be useful in getting them to toe the line.”
I went off to speak with Sammi who was quite happy to get herself to London and back, especially as I handed her the keys for the scooter, so she could get to the station and back without too much trouble.
I asked her about food, because if Tom did the catering, she’d have to like curries or starve. She said she could make a snack for herself when she came home and she’d get something for lunch in the staff restaurant.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Course I am, Mummy, you and Daddy take Catherine with you and have some time together. You certainly deserve to have some relaxation. We don’t appreciate you anywhere near as much as we should.”
I nearly fell over. “Now, let me get Julie and Stella and I think we need to have that talk about dealing with boys.”
“Do we need Auntie Stella?” she asked.
“To be fair, she’s had even more practice than I have in dealing with boys.” So, some ten minutes later we had a conference around the kitchen table, with the door shut, so we weren’t disturbed. Si put the girls to bed and he and Danny watched the telly. I think Tom was in there too, but he doesn’t watch it very much–he’s apparently writing an autobiography. When Trish asked who was it about, I had to run to the loo and bite the towel.
She was still looking confused so I sat with her and tried to help her work it out. “What’s a biography?” I asked.
“A book about someone.”
“Who wrote it?”
“I dunno, do I?”
“It could be anyone, now what does auto mean?”
“A car.”
I hadn’t quite thought of that, “Okay, what else can it mean?”
“I auto do my homework?” she smirked.
“Don’t be silly. Auto can also mean relating to the individual, meaning I or me, it’s Greek I think, so autobiography means?”
“You wrote it, so whose are you writing?”
Sometimes for someone with an IQ in the stratosphere she can be pretty dumb.
“No, silly, it means Gramps is writing his own life story. That’s what autobiography means.”
“Oh, I see now,” she beamed at me. I wondered if the nuns found their religion a help after dealing with Trish for a couple of hours–I mean do they go to confession and admit wanting to strangle her?
“Mummy?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I understand that, so what does auto-roticism, mean?”
“Auto what?”
“Auto-roticism, I think?”
“You don’t mean auto eroticism, do you?”
“Yeah, that’s the word.”
“Where did you see or hear that?”
“On the internet.”
“I thought I told you not to visit adult sites,” I also thought we had a filter to prevent her accessing them.
“I wasn’t, I was readin’ somethin’ on psychology about transsexuals, and I saw that word.”
“Okay, this might not make too much sense, but basically, it means have erotic times by yourself.”
“Is rotic sex, Mummy?”
“Erotic is mean to mean love, but it tends to be cheapened to mean sex these days.”
“So does that mean sex by yourself?”
I felt myself getting hotter, if she was winding me up, I’d lock her in a cupboard for two weeks while the others were in Menorca. “Yes.”
“How can you have sex by yourself, Mummy. I thought it needed another person?”
“There are ways, I believe,” I was not blushing about as red as a tomato.
“Are there, will you show me when I’m older?”
I choked for a moment–I think I swallowed my tonsils. When I could articulate again, “I think we’ll leave this until you’re a bit older.”
“Oh, okay, Mummy,” she turned to leave then stopped and delivered the killer blow. “Mummy, what’s a wanker?”
I felt my blood pressure double. “Where did you hear that?”
“Daddy called someone it the other day in the car.”
“Did he now?”
“It’s just a term of abuse.”
“Like bugger?”
Sometimes I wonder if she’s a changeling left here by a particularly malevolent bunch of fairies.
“Yes, now go and do your homework.”
“Okay, I’ll bugger off, then.”
Once again I was left floundering by an eight year old who knows far too much and understands too little because of her age, and sometimes I think she does like to wind me up. I’m fair skinned so I blush like a fire engine and I also get flustered at times, especially when embarrassed. Quite what would have happened had she stayed in the home or with her original parents, I hate to think–but either mental illness or criminality would have probably arisen if she survived long enough.
