Yesterday, something quite astonishing happened. My mate Daz texted me. Not astonishing in itself but the contents of the text were.
I have fluked a pass from kiddie bedtime duties tonight, Fancy a beer?
I had to re-read the text several times before it made sense. Fancy a beer? Ha, of course, I fancied a beer. It was like asking a dog if it fancied licking its very own, devilishly salty balls.
In the good old days, I would have looked myself in the mirror, given myself a cheeky wink and a pat on the bottom and scurried out the door to the pub faster than a wanking cat could say sausages.
But now? Now I had children. Nothing is simple when you have kids. Absolutely nothing. Even worse, it was my turn to do bedtimes.
It was going to be a big ask but I decided to beard the good lady in her den and see what the chances were that she would let me out for the night.
There were strange smells and noises coming from the kitchen as I approached. Tentatively, I took a step in.
Hey hey, my little chicken pie! Looking good!
The good lady turned to face me from the massive cauldron she was standing at in the kitchen. Her eyebrow raised up suspiciously.
What are you up to? heeeehhheeehh
She cackled madly whilst stirring something eye of newt'y.
Well, Daz texted me. Can you believe he has the "night off" from the kids and asked if I wanted to go to the pub!
The good lady grunted something inaudible as she scraped a dark powder from a vial with a long and hook-like fingernail.
Did he now? I suppose you are hoping for something similar eh?
She gave the cauldron a big long stir, under the surface of whatever it was, monstrous things glooped and gurgled back and forth.
I say, is that soup? It looks marvellous!
I said with a big grin as if I picked my nose and found a Bitcoin up there.
The good lady leered at me from under her big black pointed hat.
Would you like to try it? heeeeeeeeee.
She dipped in a spoon and offered it toward me, the oily muck on the spoon glistening like the eyes of a dead fish.
Of course I would!
I beamed whilst thinking I would rather eat the water from the toilet.
I closed my eyes as she pushed the spoon into my mouth.
Gaaar, it was fetid. Like wet chicken skin and feet.
You like?
Cackled the good lady.
I looked at her, I did not like it at all. It was bogging. But I did want to go out to the pub. I swallowed the slimy mess down and rubbed my tummy.
Mmmmm mmmm! Is it carrot soup? It's yummy!
Excellent!
She started scraping the turgid stuff into a bowl which she then offered to me.
Here, get that down your neck before you go to the pub.
I smiled and kept smiling whilst plugging the filthy slop into my mouth. Several times I almost passed out with horror as slippery things in the soup squirmed down into my gullet but I ploughed on bravely.
Eventually I finished it and the free pass was won.
Once again I proved I will do anything to go to the pub. Even if that anything is facing the good lady's fine carrot soup.