Trying to write something funny. Problem is I’m just not funny today. I’m tired. I think I’m coming down from my chocolate high.
Oh God. I'm not funny today.
I've tried to be funny. Really. I have. I'm just not.
I've sat in front of the screen for exactly three hours. Nothing. Humour free zone!
The cleaning lady has cleaned around me. The dog has brought his lead. Sat sadly and then gone away again. Even the cat has tried sitting on the desk yowling loudly and nodding towards the utility room door, from whence cat food is dispensed.
I've sorted out our grocery order for the weekend. Completed some business paperwork the accountant wants back. Discussed the state of a flat that's just been vacated by tenants who haven't exactly left it in a great condition.
J's mother rang. Initially unsure why she rang. But she did.
We had quite a long conversation about about her next door neighbour's dog. Well, she had a whole conversation about 'Harry', who was just so big, soppy, hairy and lovely. I was slightly concerned for a moment my mother in law had found a toy boy, until it dawned on me she was talking about a labrador.
I was enlightened as to the real reason for her call in her final sentence.
"How is *3yo*?" She asked.
"Fine, getting on really well," I replied.
"Oh Good. Just wanted to check. Bye then." And she was gone.
I did try to be funny earlier this morning. That went wrong. Maybe that's why I'm not being funny now.
Our seven year old son's Harry Potter obsession continues unabated.
"How does Harry Potter fit his wand in his trouser pocket?" Our son asked, trying to shove a 10" wand into his school trouser pocket and failing.
"Is that a euphemism?" I answered, chuckling at my wit.
"What's a euphemism?" Our son replied.
"Don't worry, it was a grown up joke." I answered.
"Is it a spell?" He persisted.
"No, grown up joke! Silly Daddy!" I tried to bat the question away.
Son was not going to be so easily deflected. "I'll go and look it up on the computer then." This was fast turning into an obsessive quest which, I was sure, wouldn't end well.
"How do you spell 'euphemism'?" He asked, picking up the iPad.
"You tell me," I asked, playing for time.
Thank goodness for seven year old school's phonetic spelling regime. "That's about it!" I shouted running upstairs to lock myself in the shower.
I think the chocolate is the problem.
I give up chocolate, sweets, cakes, anything vaguely nice for Lent. I once tried giving up alcohol too. I was homicidal within a couple of weeks and at the end of the first month I could almost have happily identified with one of the mad people who goes on mass murdering sprees.
So Easter morning is not only a chocolate fest for the children. It's a sugary chocolatey confectionary overloaded period of pure unadulterated gluttony for me!
I worked out by 10am I had already consumed my recommended daily calorie intake. The chocolate scoffing just went on and on.
My Easter Sunday diet consisted of two chocolate bunnies, a pack of chocolate farm animals, a kinder egg, three hot cross buns, a Belgian bun, half a Cadbury's creme egg (thoughtfully abandoned by our three year old, who returned half an hour later to find out where it had gone - I blamed the dog).
The day was topped off by some mini eggs and a couple of Easter chocolate corn flake cakes.
So, very clearly I'm not funny because I am coming down from a chocolate high. All I need to do to be funny again is go and find some chocolate. Now. Immediately.
Except there's none in the house other than the kids...
Oh well, they'll never know