I hate Topsy and Tim's mum.
I really do. I hate everything about her. Here are some examples:
Topsy and Tim's house
Topsy and Tim want to make robots out of boxes in the middle of a house move
Topsy and Tim's mum: That's a brilliant idea, my twintastic twins! Let me help you with some foil and some glue.
Toddler wants to play with the fingerpaints again. This involves approximately 15 minutes of setting up, for a full three seconds of play, until she screams because she has paint on her hands, and is then followed by 15 minutes of clearing up.
Me: No. Have some chocolate.
Topsy and Tim's house
Topsy and Tim are sad they had to put the tent away.
Topsy and Tim's mum: Never mind, my twintabulous twins! Let's make a cool den indoors with sheets and some clothes airers!
Toddler cries because we had to turn the TV off/ put our shoes on / take our shoes off/ come inside / go outside / the cat wouldn't let her lick his face.
Me: Stop whining. Here. Have some chocolate.
I mean, seriously, she's just making the rest of us look bad. She never loses her temper. She never says no. She never says, "Hang on, I'm just on Facebook." She even lets them keep a pet rabbit. And all this in the middle of moving house.
One day when Topsy and Tim's nursery school had to close down for the day, Topsy and Tim's mum invited the whole fucking nursery school class to her house. Her house! She did this whilst smiling, looking gorgeous, and having some really good ideas about how to entertain fifteen little bastards.
And she has twins! Twins! Two of the little fuckers.
In addition, Topsy and Tim's mum looks gorgeous. Well-groomed, well-dressed and perfectly made up. If I were her, with two pre-school fuckwads to look after, I would have a bald patch from repetitive stress hair-pulling, would be at least three stone overweight and may well have developed Tourette's. Well, at least that's what I would tell the neighbours to excuse the fact that every third sentence contained the words "fucking little cockweasels".
They probably wouldn't use me to make a pre-school kids' show.
I like to think she's nice on the outside, but it's all bubbling away inside, eating away at her. One day, they'll broadcast "Topsy and Tim's Mum Goes Postal". And it'll be the policeman asking Topsy, "Are you good at remembering? What sort of weapon was Mummy holding? The answer is behind Mr Nibbles..."