It’s hard to work up much of a FFS!? when you’re on holiday, but I’ll do my best.
#1Hubby keeps threatening to sing with the hotel band. FFS!?
Just when we’d become friendly with a number of other guests. FFS!?
#1Hubby is convinced his is Bono’s younger brother, blessed with the same musical genes.
Not even remotely close. FFS!?
Miss3 has started very loudly asking everyone how old they are. Everyone. Particularly middle aged people we don't know. FFS!?
Of course, when asked, I respond with “Mummy is 24”, at which point she cackles like an evil old lady and screams out “BULLSHIT MUMMY!”
Classy and outing me. FFS!?
Mstr3 has found his left nostril. Again. FFS!?
His finger is permanently wedged all up in there, while he displays an expression of serious contemplation. FFS!?
Miss7 has made friends with other kids. No FFS!?
She invites them into our room, right across from the pool, and suddenly I am semi-parenting a group of young kids who all want to drink the mini bar dry of over-priced soft drinks. FFS!?
Of course I don’t want to appear to be the uncool parent (perish the thought), so I figure I’ll get out of saying no by telling them they must ask their parents, who you’d assume would say no, right?
Their parents all say yes, and suddenly I’m supervising a sugar fuelled rave party for under 10’s in my hotel room, at the rate of $3US per can. FFS!?
I expect the revolving rave party to cease when their parents spot Miss7’s swearing and nose picking siblings, and stop allowing their kids to associate with the feral family. No FFS!?
No images this week, I'm far too preoccupied protecting the laptop from hyperactive children who aren't my own, and therefore can't be yelled at and threatened. FFS!?