To be fair, it’s not the only thing she steals, but pants are her favourite. She’s not fussy whose pants they are (as can be verified by a few guests who have stayed at Chez-Annas). She hasn’t singled mine out due to any dubious or questionable hygiene habits ( or lack of them). She just likes pants. Fresh out of the drawer, or fresh off ya bum. Either / or. She also has a penchant for cucumbers and will steal those too given the opportunity. (I know right? The whole thing is quite questionable). You wouldn’t think it was a circumstance that arose, but in our house it does, because I also have a child (The Colonel) that nicks cucumbers. Whole ones at a time. Because I once said, many moons ago, that I didn’t mind him helping himself to healthy nibbles out of the fridge.
And so he does.
A few nights ago he took one and stashed it somewhere in his bedroom for later. No, I have no clue why. As far as I am aware there was no impending national shortage of cucumbers and nor had we reached such a dire state of financial destitution that we wouldn’t be able to purchase any in the near future either. Whatever his reasoning, the cucumber ended up at eye level. Fetish-Dog eye level (who I should add only weighs 3kg and is not much bigger than the average roasted peanut). Fetish-Dog didn’t waste a second. She promptly whipped it out from its hiding place and scarpered across the landing at a hundred dog-miles an hour. Tail and ears flattened to enhance her aerodynamics. Straight under my bed. Bearing in mind that the cucumber was about the same length as her, it was quite a sight to behold. I’d like to pretend I was shocked and stunned at the antics, but the reality was that I barely raised an eyebrow. However, it was more entertaining than the writing project I was sat trying to complete at the time. In traditional fashion, I rolled my eyes and then flipped over the edge of the mattress for a front seat view of the ensuing hoo-har. Just in time to feel the breeze coming off my second born (the victim in this scenario) as he also arrived at the scene. Horizontally. A bit like superman, but with less grace and more spots.
There was initially a bit of a standoff. Fetish-Dog buried her salad-treasure under the nest of stolen pants (that’s where they’ve all been disappearing to!!) in a bid to frighten the enemy, and for a moment or two, it worked. The Colonel looked at the pants, looked back at the dog, looked at the cucumber and weighed up the odds of survival. He gave me a fleeting glance, a thumbs up and told me he was going in.
I gave him a thumbs up back … because I’m a supportive parent like that …
What happened next was a little more than a heated debate. He argued his case well. She argued hers better, and in typical female fashion, chose to ignore him completely and do whatever the hell she wanted anyway; dragging the cucumber and the pants even further back into No Mans Land. I think it would be a just assessment to say that The Colonel lost … both the cucumber and his dignity. And I also think it would be fair to say that I shall be needing to take a trip to M & S very soon in order to stock up on supplies. Of pants. Not cucumbers.
We are going to stick to purchasing lettuce for a wee while.