Goujons

Well, hello sailor!

My mouth wrenched in a grimace at someone actually saying such a thing in real life and I looked up.

Oh, pishflaps. It was Bawface. A mummy friend of the Good Lady. She was exceptionally annoying and had an even more annoying potato-faced baby, Harry.

Aye aye, Missus.

I nodded at her in what I hoped was a way that didn't look like I was struggling to squeeze out a dry shit.

She pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down, dragging her massive and expensive pram over beside the table.

My heart sank. I was in the park and had been hoping for just a little me time with the little boom. Now it looked like I was going to have to make polite small talk with a screeching harpy.

I chided myself. Maybe she wouldn't be an annoying bastart and I was just being churlish?

I have just started Harry on the potty. He is doing ever so well!

Chirped Bawface.

I frowned as if unhappy with the bouquet from my belly button cheese.

Really, you are toilet training him? He is the same age as the little boom? Like one and a half, isn't that a bit young?

Bawface looked at me smugly, drawing in a deep breath through her large porky nostrils.

The thing is. Some children are just ready before others.

She cast a pair of lizardy eyes at my pram in which the Little Boom was sleeping. As if my child were a poorly trained monkey destined to work in a coal mine and her walrus-like child was fated to be the next President of the world.

Well, good luck with that.

I snorted.

She smiled condescendingly as if her vagina was knitting baby clothes and selling them on Etsy. She picked up a menu and started heaving a turgid eye up and down it.

Idly, I wondered if she would order some raw fish and throw it up in the air for her blubberous child to catch in his mouth.

Oh look, Harry, they have chicken goujons. You love chicken goujons don't you, Harry?

Harry poked his big round head above the level of the pram and made a gurble face.

Gow wow, booba?!

Shouted the moon-faced child.

What's that Harry? You love chicken goujons?

Gawawa! Aaaaaah, boog? Boog? BOOG??!

Bawface looked at him as if he were a particularly creamy eclair.

Of course, I will get you out the pram my little darling. Oh, you are excited about the goujons arent you!

She proceeded to haul him out of the pram and held him before her.

Boog?! BOOG!

Screamed Harry. He seemed to be in a little distress.

Food? Food? Yes, my darling. Chicken goujons! You love them, don't you?

I rolled my eyes. I had an entirely different view of her darling child than she did. Namely, a rear one.

Em, I don't think it's the food he is excited about.

I said with a cheery smile.

What? Oh, it is. He always makes a racket when he is getting chicken goujons.

I raised an eyebrow and pointed at the little baboon's bottom.

No. I don't think it is that.

Bawface looked annoyed.

It is that. I understand him perfectly well you know.

As if to emphasise his being understood the little grub waggled in her arms and tried pointing in every direction whilst yelling.

BOOG BOOOG!!?!?

I spoke loudly so as to be heard over his racket.

I think he has shat himself?

I pointed at his now swampy bottom.

Bawface turned him around and recoiled.

Oh god. not again. Sorry, must dash?!

She wheeked him off in the direction of the toilet.

I yelled after her.

Good luck with the toilet training!