I did the ironing last night. Apparently I iron both excellently and fast but, ultimate fail, I don't put the clothes into the correct piles.
Darren got up with the kids today and there was fecking war over school trousers. They came down, Oscar and Arthur, in each others trousers. The long and short of it I guess, ba boom tish, is that Oz's were up around his knees and Arthurs were er, well below his ankles and under his feet.
Arthur hadn't realised and Oscar was shouting "Here! Look, look, these trousers are too short, they are the wrong trousers, you gave me the wrong trousers . . ."I'm mental looking". Darren pointed out that it wasn't his fault they were wearing the wrong trousers and it was in fact THE MOTHERS fault as she, me, had done the ironing (and thankfully I was still in bed)
Arthur was just pissed off because he was awake. He didn't give a shite about his trousers trailing along behind him. He did have a giggle when Darren flipped him upside down to check the tag on his waistband.
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