Mark is just one week away from coming home and naturally I’d like to look my best for him. Sadly, Alby’s views on what that involves and my own are somewhat different. Personally, and yes my own beauty expectations won’t hit the make over tips for Vogue, I’m hoping for slightly less-pastey skin, untangled hair and a reduction in the bags under my eyes. Alby however seems to think that my appearance will be improved by the introduction of a few war wounds. (Or maybe he’s over heard me saying I need more glow in my cheeks and is trying to add some natural rouge to my appearance?) Regardless of the intention, which is no doubt honourable, I now have a scratch down my neck, three along my collar bone (all courtesy of his tiny nails which have simply outstanding scratching abilities. Seriously, they deserve an award for efficiency) and a small cut under my right eye (courtesy of shoe to face during a moment of over excited tickling).
I like to think of these as marks of love but let’s be
honest, my son is a thug. Whilst he has
yet to channel Percy’s elegant sleeping ways he has honed the thuggish ways of the
bulldog down to a T.
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