The eight-year-old has just gone back to her dad’s after a wonderfully fun-filled and frankly exhausting week. She got her requested early birthday present of a science prank set from her grandma, and decided to try out some of the pranks on me. The impact of the pranks was somewhat negated by the fact that she told me in advance that she was going to prank me!
To start with, she moulded a piece of poo-coloured clay into the shape of a poo, placed it on the floor, pointed at it and asked innocently, ‘Mum, what’s that?’
‘A fake poo,’ I replied (I am nothing if not a spoilsport).
When I had a siesta, she re-moulded the poo-coloured clay into the shape of a tarantula and placed it on my pillow next to me.
When I woke up, I merely thought ‘Oh, it’s that poo-coloured clay again!’ To be fair, spiders aren’t generally the colour of poo. If it had been black, that might have been a different matter.
Next she made a whoopee cushion out of two balloons, a cardboard tube and two rubber bands. Tragically, it didn’t work, letting out a barely audible hiss when I sat on it. ‘My real farts are a million times louder than that!’ I pointed out.
A bottle which sprayed water everywhere when the cap was opened was slightly more successful, but was also a one-time-use-only prank.
In non-prank news, the eight-year-old also attempted to make a pyramid of cards, but couldn’t get past this level.
For the rest of the day, she got distracted by trying on my clothes and posing in them. They’re too big, but only just! I give it three years before my wardrobe is officially hers.
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