The lady in the picture obviously had not read books on 'Taming the Toddler'. Even writing this is an excellent example of my ham-handedness – the space bar would not work – so I got a bit of kitchen roll with a drop of olive oil – result sticky space bar. Then I remembered daughter-in-law advice, turn it upside down and shake it – once the sandwich crumbs were out all was well.
My best is the longest – from my father's mirth when I was 6 and my best friend's here now I am 82. It's not my fault; tools have a mind of their own. I claim the steak is tough in the restaurant, a co-diner suggests that I hold the knife the right way up.
My father acceded to my aim to be a carpenter – provided with tools and wood he then had hysterics. I still cannot saw straight, hammer a nail in at all - they bounce, putty rolls off in a ball, and screwdrivers go backwards. 'Best friend' above arrived to find me hammering in a picture hook with a club hammer, plaster coming off wall.
Next, a flooded kitchen and near floods of tears from me. We have a pump for waste water, to clean it you have to pull the electric plug out, fill sinks with special cleanser, and leave for two hours. I did that, then plugged the hoover in instead, and turned the washing up machine on with no drainage except the kitchen.
If I do anything in the least dangerous, I send an e-mail 'sensible girl wanted'. Any electrical gadget is a no-no.
I also have a reputation as an arsonist. I have only had the fire brigade out twice. I burned a collapsed shed – flames could be seen from the road and firemen called. I had taken all precautions, hose laid out etc. What I did not know was that there was half a ton of fertilizer in the shed, which made the most spectacular firework display.
Then it seemed simpler to burn the brambles in the ditch, not realising the flammability of the dried grass. It did stop before it reached the road. I nearly have to sign in for matches.
Second son and a French mate took all the cones round some road works on the main road and directed all the traffic down a cul-de-sac. Police were called (luckily the Inspector worked for us as a student). The boys were talked to sternly – but I was regarded as the culprit. One of the boys had my genes, what else could you expect?
What are you, 'Some mothers do 'ave 'em' or a Shirley Conran 'Wonder Woman' (males not debarred from this discussion)?
A Moodscope member.
Thoughts on the above? Please feel free to post a comment on our blog on the Moodscope web site: