My kids, sensing my wife was about to leave, both got up at stupid o'clock. They were in a very good mood though. After that we made chocolate chip muffins (which I've been promising to do for a good week now) and I've even promised to take them out later to play. It's too nice a Fall day not to. We do have to walk down to the Feedway to buy maple syrup in a bit too. That seems like the sort of thing that won;t drive my daughter into a seething rage.
Outside of that this morning we have dressed up as super heroes. Yes, like the old days we've been wearing extra underpants over our pants. My daughter did not want to play Dr. Bonk and Princess Bounce but preferred the alluring tales of Captain Cheesestick. My son doesn't like it and has been chasing us trying to rip our undies off. Which my daughter insists is just his evil plan, and is part of today's story - Captain Cheesestick and The Underpants Thief (now available with limited edition extra short story - Captain Cheesestick and The Gorgonzola Worms). Curious that my son's only aim is to steal underpants I asked my daughter what our super powers are. She instantly responded that she had three.
One: Going crazy (thankfully not described as "going fucking crazy.")
Two: Fighting crime. Apparently this is now a super power.
Three: My daughter demonstrated this one by lying on her back, putting her legs over her head, then having her brother sit on her face.
I'm not sure what the last power does. I'm thinking of calling this the Sex and The City Empowerment Move. That being the laughably shit notion that you can be a real modern woman if you never get a real job, spend all your energy spouting vacuous bollocks about the things that really matter (handbags, pubes and makeup) and act like a desperate drunken whore. And please don't behave as if this means I must be some sort of stuffy old-fashioned Jeremy Clarkson misogynist. That show loudly trumpets the idea that what's important in life isn't intelligence or effort but ensuring women maintain a facade at all times so that they can get as much cock as possible. Oh I'm sorry - I'm sure that privileged Manhattan socialite Candace Bushnell really was describing your life working at a bank in a strip mall. Funny how her character realized that buying that new pair of $1,500 shoes and screwing that bloke in the back of a dry-laundry truck was a life-affirming moment akin to Mary Wollstonecraft writing about inequality in late 18th century England. And yet when you blew your whole paycheck on a hooker-boots from JC Penny, and sucked-off the forklift driver from BestBuy that you know is married and has a disabled son you felt dirty and like a slut.
Anyhoo - I was hoping that wasn't the method that we had to use to disable The Underpants Thief. It wasn't - I threw a blanket over him and then tickled him until he laughed so hard that he had to be rushed to the toilet. Ironically separating him from his underpants entirely.