I found an old cookie in the bottom of my purse and seriously considered eating it.
I’ve become invested in his shows and am patiently waiting for the day Handy Manny and Kelly from the Hardware store realise they are in love.
I am starting to consider hot dogs and chocolate milk a high class dinner if I use a fork.
The word poo is the absolute height of comedy genius.
Closely followed by the sound of a Whoopie Cushion.
I’ve started counting out the change in to the shop assistants hand one penny at a time.
By 2pm I’m ready to nap. But I won’t.
Food is much more appealing to me if somebody takes the time to cut everything in to dinosaur shapes. I won’t eat it, I just like to know I have the power to make someone stand in the kitchen and do that.
I have to use every bathroom, everywhere we go. I don’t necessarily need to go I just want to know what they all look like.
I’ve developed a special kind of hearing where I can hear nothing you say unless somehow the word chocolate is in the sentence.
My standard response to a stranger smiling at me in the supermarket has become to immediately try and hide behind the closest object. Even if that object is a banana stand. Although it’s much more fun to randomly grab somebodies legs and try to get behind them as they desperately flail about trying to fall on top of me.
I have the desire to push every button. Ever. If you do not let me then on your head be it.
I have become unable to read any book longer than 10 pages and the excitement of knowing what’s under the flap on page 7 can make or break a night time.
Ketchup. Ketchup on everything.
I want to share other people’s things, but under no circumstances are they allowed to share mine.
I will tell you what I want with very specific detail as to how it should happen. When you bring me exactly what I asked for I will swear blind I never asked for it, requested it or even thought about it and you are in actual fact insulting and degrading me by bringing it to me and I will fall to the floor screaming as though you have stolen my first born child.
I’ve taken to measuring units of time in Television shows. I can keep a room clean for approximately 2 episodes of Peppa Pig.
The sound of the post coming through the letter box is my signal to go bat shit crazy and streak through the house racing everybody to the door to grab the letters from the mat.
I totally and utterly ignore my husband. Unless he’s on the phone, then I want his entire and undivided attention at all times. I will pull his leg, I will poke him with a toy truck, I will talk incessantly trying to tell him that incredibly vital piece of information I just thought of there then until the phone hits the cradle. The second the phone is switched off I will lose all interest in him and anything he has to say and walk away looking slightly bemused at his angry face and wondering what got him that way.
The worse thing, remember the cookie that was in my purse?
I totally ate it.