Mummy is mine. Stop kissing her. Any hug attempts in my presence will be sabotaged. Probably with Lego and/or at least one Tombliboo as a weapon.
I’d like a baby brother or sister please. I’ve heard there’s a backlog and orders can take a minimum of 9 months so please crack on. You guys are boring me a bit. Need someone more on my level you know…
I don’t wear socks now. Just so you’re aware.
You remember that week you grew a beard? Well. If you do that again I’ll f@*king cut you.
Please don’t be naive enough to think you can eat chocolate without me… I’ve found all your dirty little confectionary hiding places; the car glove box, your desk drawer, behind the beer in the ‘secret fridge’ in the utility room… I can smell Lion bar on your breath when you get back from rugby… You disgust me…
If you’re going to continue with this so called ‘work’ thing you’re always banging on about I’m gonna need cake. A lot of cake. And a pony. And a whisk (I just like them).
I’m not joking about the pony. (Or the whisk)
Please don’t EVER leave the house without a banana again… I really hate showing you up in front of all the other Saturday-Morning-Playground-Daddies… it’s embarrassing for us ALL.
I don’t care what rugby match is on telly when I SAY IT’S BARBIE PRINCESS TEA PARTY TIME I BASTARD MEAN IT.
You were mistaken. Your iPad really is mine… No more Candy Crush for you. Bitch.