Rosa managed yesterday, with a single enthusiastic whack of her maraca, to smash the glass on my 1970s leopard skin coffee table with the fine tapered legs. Either she’s got superb arm and shoulder strength (which will please her daddy no end - winning forehand here we come…) or the glass in my beautiful but flimsy table doesn’t conform to today’s standards. Though I’m sure her muscles are adequately developed for her age, I suspect it’s the latter; I had been doubtful about its safety lately.
Anyway, they were delighted to be pounced on (Ruby was there too, the shatter occurred right under her face and hands, it was she I was more concerned about), whisked to the bathroom, hosed down and given a basin of water each to splash in, sleeves up to elbows, and not even close to bedtime. Jolly fun… Then I changed their clothes for good measure which they didn’t like, and our day got all boring again.
The table’s outside now in the rain. Though I loved it, I don’t care two hoots that it’s gone. It’s nice when old things die and are ready for the bin – makes way for something new. Paul on the other hands likes things to stay the same forever. But that’s a whole nother post…