Post Fifty-Three

Who Was The Last Person You Shouted At?

I’m not a shouty person. I’m very quiet. I’m a perfect little angle. Angel. Damn.

I really don’t shout that often. I always try to keep a cool head in explosive situations. By ‘cool head’ I obviously mean I run as far away as possible because, let’s face it, my face is underneath the word ‘coward’ in the Oxford English Dictionary. Possibly also under ‘moocher’.

I’ve mentioned in my main blog that mum, dad and I occasionally look after this little baby lad who is just unbelievably adorable and just so lovely and cute. I really enjoy looking after him, and he always talks to me in that weird baby language I cannot understand. I’m literally kneeling down next to him responding with ‘really?’ and ‘yeah, I totally agree’. I’m not very good at striking up conversation though. I tell you, asking a 16-month-old baby for their opinion on China’s fiscal policy isn’t the best idea.

One day he got onto the coffee table we have in the conservatory, which was pushed up against a unit, itself against a wall. On that unit was a big bowl full of peanuts, and one really shouldn’t let a little baby get hold of peanuts unless you have no sense of smell. And are blind. He kept reaching for them, I had to tell him off and he looked so sad. I’m a softy. I’m no good with the puppy dog eyes babies put on, so I apologized.

So that was the last time I shouted at someone, and it was a long while ago.

Ciao :)(:

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