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Wednesday, December 12, 2012

The Bum Monster

Find these cracking pants here

We have a lot of kids. I know cause I live here and I have to share the toilet with them.  Even with the oldest two having moved out of the house, there are still five of the little critters running, screaming, through the house trying in vain to get my attention.

Our house is loud. All the time. Especially if Master7 is trying to be funny. I often think to myself it couldn't get worse, but it is incredible the difference to the noise level an extra two children make.

I know because the other night Cousin9 and Cousin5 were over for dinner and the place was deafening.

But it wasn't just our ears which were being assaulted - Miss9 decided to accost one of the other senses as well.

'My eyes! My eyes!" moaned Cousin9, stumbling into the kitchen, squinting and simultaneously rubbing his hands across his eyes and trying to focus on them.

"What's happened?" his mother asked, worried.

"She pulled her pants down," he said, almost gagging.

"Who?"

My money would have been on Miss5, but surprisingly, in this case, it was Miss9. It seems my daughter had decided to introduce her cousins to The Bum Monster.

"You get the blame for this," Tracey hissed at me as she raced into the bedroom to ensure our child was pulling clothes on instead of off.

"I think the word you mean is credit," I called after her, grinning. "And yes, I do." But I wasn't really feeling all that confident because The Bum Monster has been known to backfire.

The Bum Monster is a tradition in this house, dating back hundreds of months. When the moon is full or there's a cheeky feeling in the air The Bum Monster can sometimes be found chasing kids around the house. Okay, it's me :) I chase them, bum first, from room to room until I corner them on a bed or the lounge. The love this game because my bum is, quite simply, hilarious, with a capital H. And when The Bum Monster catches them, he sits on them, which is even funnier, with a capital HILARIOUS.

The trouble is the kids don't always dress appropriately when they do The Bum Monster. The younger ones, like Miss2 and Miss5, for example, tend to go the full monty when they attempt it, and actually release the beast, which tends not to illicit as much merriment from whichever poor kid they're chasing.

Tracey, as you might have guessed, feels I might be encouraging her darlings towards becoming social pariahs, and no doubt, as she stomped out of the kitchen, was already adding this incident to her quiver of poison tipped arguments against letting The Bum Monster back into our house.

But I was saved by my daughter's prudishness.

"It's okay," Tracey said as she came back into the kitchen, looking relieved. "She kept her undies on."

***

(In case you missed it, a previous post a few weeks ago THE NAKED TRUTH also touched on The Bum Monster - hit the link and have a catch up read if you missed it)


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1 comment:

Two Point Five Kids said...

I am soooo going to ask my Step Dad if he will make those pants for Master J for next winter - they are the bomb!!

About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.

 

His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).

 

Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.

 

His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


 

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