Yesterday I wrote with pride about my stealthy stair-climbing skills as I crept past my niece’s room while she was asleep.
In the morning Fat Sister brought me a slice of peanut butter on toast. Because she’s my sister she always makes it with exactly the right amount of peanut butter. But what she hadn’t done was cut it into manageable pieces – she’d left it as a single slice.
Moments after she left the room I gave a shout of surprise, and she rushed back in to check that I was all right. She took one look at me and doubled over with laughter. I was wearing the toast square across my face.
There’s an element of Tourettes that makes me to do the wrong thing in any given situation, and it turns out that the wrong thing to do with a slice of sticky toast is slap it on your face.
What concerned me most was the waste of all that peanut butter.
Not so Ninja then.