Wednesday, April 3, 2013

My imaginary friend.

The four year old has a new friend.

His name is Joe Wilson.

He comes from England and they met in Tescos.

Nobody else can actually see Joe Wilson but we hear about him all the time.

Sometimes he takes the blames for stuff like any good imaginary friend should.

Sometimes he keeps his buddy occupied with games he makes up like 'Jungle Trampoline'.

But most of the time we simply hear his name being shouted around the house and garden. 'JOE WILSON!' 'WHERE ARE YOU JOE WILSON?'

I'm sorry - but an imaginary friend that is never there when you want him??

Personally I'd ditch the slacker for someone new.

Maybe someone with a car. Who owns a sweet shop. And lives in a soft play centre.

Actually, maybe I'll get myself my own imaginary friend...

She'll be rich, with a private jet on standby for anytime the kids (or husband) misbehave a little
too much.

She'll have a fridge permanently stocked with champagne, a wine cellar filled with just the very best reds, a chef on standby to cook up a fillet steak or some hand crafted pasta, a home cinema, and feather down beds with crisp white sheets, oh, and and a therapist, beauty parlour and childminder all on call.

And of course she'd be hilarious, loyal, kind, understanding and wise.

Joe Wilson can go take a hike. Now, who'd like to apply for the new position?
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