Yesterday, I peeled a chunk of nail and flesh from my thumb with a vegetable peeler.
Rather a lot actually.
Also, and I should point out here that you are lucky that I am not providing a picture for your pleasure, there was a nice piece of my thumb sitting in the kitchen sink. We all had a good look at it. It was a bit yuck.
It bled and bled and bled.
Being without even one opposable thumb is actually a real pain in the bum.
This morning, as it was still bleeding and my blood soaked bandaid* needed changing, I yelled for my manservant** to attend me.
Whilst I was waiting for him to attend me, I removed the blood encrusted bandaid and this my friends, is where Pudding shared his wisdom:
Pudding: What happened to your thumb? (ah the temperamental memory of a four-year-old)
Me: I peeled it with a vegetable peeler.
Pudding: Well, I haded a bruise. It’s gone now.
Me: Yes, yes you did.
Pudding: Well, you should of goted a man to help you. (Accompanied by look of superior wisdom and paternal care)
Me: I beg your pardon?
Pudding: (shakes head and smiles condescendingly) A man! You needed a man to help you.
Me: (quite pissy by this stage) Ah, no. No darling, girls can do anything that boys can do.
Pudding: (laughs in my face) No! Boys are best at using tools and fixing Mummy. You should have gotted a MAN to help you!
Grrrr. The manservant insists he has not said anything that would have given rise to that sort of thought. He then went on to spout some insolent nonsense about Pudding observing the natural order of things, which earned him a sound beating stern talking to.
I can’t quite believe that came out of Pudding’s mouth. The child knows that I built most of the kitchen cupboards for frag’s sake. He obviously is too young to know what’s good for him!
* Sticking plaster. Beefcake kept heading into Boots in the UK and asking for bandaids only to be met with blank stares. He never did learn.
**Beefcake is a most slovenly, objectionable and quite frankly next to useless man-servant. He is not efficient or organised in any way but beggars with sore pelvises can’t be choosers.