Where are the kids? A meandering interlude


ME: The kids aren’t here at the moment.

ALSO ME BUT PRETENDING TO BE A READER FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS POST: Oh?  Where are they?

ME: At this particular moment, I should imagine they’re halfway to Felixstowe.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: Oh, my God, does the white slave trade have them?!

ME: No, stop being so dramatic (and borderline racist).  They’re with their grandparents.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: Their grandparents are white slave traders?!

ME: No, it’s school summer holidays.  Because we have to work the Lovely Melanie’s parents are looking after them.  They’ve all gone on holiday to Felixstowe.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: But summer holidays started last week.  Did you just leave them home – at the mercy of white slave traders?!!

ME: What the hell is it with you and the white slave trade??!  No, last week they were in Swindon.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: Birthplace of the white slave trade!!!

ME: No, it isn’t, as you very well know.  They were staying with my parents for most of the week; had a whale of a time there, by all accounts, especially with their young cousin, Izzy.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: Is she a slaver?

ME: No, she’s three years old.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: Child slavery prodigy, eh?

ME: No!  Well, not that I know of.  It’s highly doubtful.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: If you say so.

ME: I do.  Anyway, we barely saw the girls last week and we won’t see them this week until Friday.  I don’t think they’ve ever been away for quite so long.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: They’d be gone longer if the white slave trade got hold of them.

ME: This is hopeless.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: So is…

ME: ..the white slave trade?

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: Actually, I was going to say “your mum”.

ME: She’s your Mum as well.

AMBPTBARFTPOFP: Damn.

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