Hands off my shit

Miss3 rules the roost like a tyrannical mini-me.

She is me, but far more cunning and evil.  

Me2.0 : the new and improved, and far more calculating version.

She is going to be the death of me, even if it’s when I’m 86 and she’s sick of changing my Depends and gagging on my old lady farts, and so she smothers me in a loving and merciful fashion.

And then proceeds to suck the jewels off my still warm fingers so she can have first pick and use the remainder as bargaining chips with her siblings.

I'm going to take up professional smoking, to ensure that the jewel-extraction process is as unpleasant as possible for Miss3.

Other than that, I am at peace with all of this.

I draw the line, however, when it comes to my stuff. 

My food, my drink, my make up, my laptop.

We go out for coffee.  In the time it takes me to put my purse away, she has consumed the cookie that came with my coffee and half my cake.  She literally growls if I go near her babycino marshmallows.

I go to use the laptop, but she’s already on there.  She has no idea what she’s doing, she just presses the keys as fast as she can and laughs like a maniac.  But she also refuses to get off until she’s finished what she’s doing.

In the time it takes me to shower in the morning – and with 3 kids, it’s little more than a millisecond – she has parked herself at the basin and started Drag Queening herself up with my make up.  I have been without mascara for weeks after she liberally coated her leg hairs in it.  When I say my mascara was running - I am speaking in the literal - it was running out the bathroom door, screaching and laughing as I muttered "shed words" and sped after it.

I suppose this is to be expected, as Miss3 received extensive training in the use of Mummy's beautifcation supplies from her older sister, Miss6.

This one-way sharing all came to a head a few days ago.

In desperate need of wine or chocolate, and being too early for wine, I went in search of my secret chocolate stash.  I actually have 3 of them.

The first one, empty.  Which surprised me, but I figured I’d cleaned it out and forgotten to re-stock it.

No matter, on to the second.  Also empty.  Now, slightly panicked and chastising myself for letting my supplies get to such critical levels.

Third stash…also completely empty.  I am as close to hysterical as I can admit to being without sounding pathetic.  Now I know it’s not just me.

So I go to #1Hubby and rant and rave at him a bit.  But it wasn’t him.

So I head for Miss6, sternly warning her never ever to touch my chocolate again.  Only it wasn’t her either, and she’s now in the depths of despair over the fact that I had chocolate in the house and didn’t share it with her.

Mstr3 is following me around, concerned look on his face, saying “What’s wrong Mummy?  Chocolate gone?  Oh shit Mummy”.

It wasn’t him.  He’s not capable of hiding it or cleaning his face afterwards.  Plus he likes to come to me to show off, so he would’ve outed himself at some point by showing me what he’d found.

Miss3 is strangely absent.  She’s sitting in the corner with a sly smirk plastered all over her face.

She’s quite clearly having trouble containing herself as she watches me lose my shit over my beloved chocolate.

She slinks over to me, laughs, and says “come on Mummy!” and runs upstairs to her bedroom.  There, she pulls open her pillow slip cover and proudly displays at least a dozen mini Twirl wrappers, before letting out an evil "HAHAHA!" and running back downstairs.

She is awesome. She is evil. She is trouble. She is me but so much better.

She is going down.