Week 218, playing games, being an 87-year-old, and smelling like farts...

Games my daughter has suggested we play this week...

I am a dog and walk behind her, only to be occasionally patted on the head very hard for being a ‘bad dog.’

I run a shop that sells carrots that cost £54 each.

I am a hairdresser who is only allowed to speak to tell my daughter what a beautiful princess she is.

I am a maid who waits on said beautiful princess.

I am a waitress who feeds said princess.

I am a pilot who flies around said princess.

My son is a 7-year-old (actual age; 20 months), my daughter is his 67-year-old sister (actual age; 4 years), I am their 89-year-old mother (actual age; 37). Their father is dead.

I am an ugly witch who smells like old vegetables.

I’m all for imaginative play but, fucks sake, couldn’t I once, ONCE, be a shit-hot, intensely-cool super hero who doesn’t smell like someone’s just farted?

Nope?

OK. Fine. Do your worst.