You'd think, wouldn't you, that after nigh on thirty years of having your "little sister"/"Great Aunt"/"The Decorators" staying for a week, you'd have kind a got the hang of the little... shall we say, 'hints' of their imminent arrival. I mean, it's not as if these visits are entirely UN-planned, now are they?!
So why do I seriously still expect some kind of written acknowledgment that this is going to happen? Why do I still stand back in amazement at the conundrum that is crying over spilt anything, the Andrex puppies, Strictly CD or even X-Factor (come on now!), the misplaced temper tantrums and finally the abject realisation of my pitiful, let me repeat, PITIFUL excuse for an existence and then feel utterly guilty for having felt that because of all the starving and dying children in the world... oh, you get the picture.
I shouldn't be allowed out during these days of mental cruelty - to others I mean. Once I even knocked down a brick wall whilst reversing into the drive. On realising what I'd done, I drove forwards and ran over a large piece of already knocked down wall and then tried to go back in - thus ensuring I took out at least a further three rows. MiniMe still marvels at the sight of mother knocking down a brick wall and then making damn sure I'd done a proper job of it!
So it should have come as no great surprise that whilst Hubby was mowing the lawn yesterday he called over to ask me if I'd been in any 'scrapes in the car' recently. Not what I would have called a scrape, but yes, the day before I'd misjudged the kerb on the helter-skelter car park and driven probaby 50 metres ON IT, hence the 'scrapheap challenge'-look it was now sporting with it's skirt hanging off the front. Gulp. Yes. And in human years, it's still only a baby...surely tantamount to abuse of the cruellest order?!
OMG! - hand me those tissues, will you, I think Aunty's on her way!