Presently, there is huge box full of chocolates residing in our house. We are meant to sell them. All parents will be familiar with this phenomenon. Fund Raising. Ugh. As this particular box is from our youngest son's kindy where we already pay an alarming sum of money for him to attend, the fact that we are also expected to fund raise for them is particularly galling.
The box was handed to me as I left from picking Master 3 up on Tuesday, with the words "Do your best." What they don't realise is that this is the equivalent of handing Amy Winehouse a giant box of heroin with the same parting words. A not especially brilliant idea, considering what happened to that poor woman. Death by chocolate, however, is a distinct possibility for me.
It's true. My name is Vanessa. And I am a chocoholic. With a huge box of chocolates in the house. Which I have to resist. Or sell. Fast. Especially before they cost me a fortune.
You see, in addition to being a raging chocoholic myself, I have also succeeded in causing my children to become chocoholics too. Classy.
Some mothers manage to keep their addiction to themselves, furtively sneaking the Kit Kat from their handbag when the little ones aren't looking. How on Earth do they manage this? My addiction is so all-consuming that this is entirely impossible for me.
Plus, my boys seem to have an internal radar for sensing any chocolate or junk food for miles. Particularly since we only live in a small house. There are only so many hiding places. They have figured them all out, being way smarter than I ever will be.
With their combined intellect, stubbornness and intense drive for junk food in triplicate, they are a force to be reckoned with. Delightedly aware of the fact that I am so incredibly weak willed that whenever we pass the corner shop on the way back from school, all they have to do is say, "Mum, can we get something at the shop? Pleeeeease?" and I will give in, secretly coveting a chocolate treat for myself. So I am in deep trouble with a whole box in the house.
But, how do I sell them? I don't go to paid work. Micky Blue Eyes works from home. I do not wish to go door knocking. I just don't.
The only time I ever did, massive, menacing dogs bounded out to front fences barking furiously, scaring the bejesus out of me and permanently terrorising Master 10, who now has an intense fear of dogs. Or, small, fluffy dogs pattered out to front fences yapping, irritating me beyond belief.
People took an aeon to answer their doors, clearly irritated. Then, demanded to know what we were selling the chocolates for, and looked dubious when I told them. All the good chocolates were sold in the first street, leaving only the less desirable ones, which people tutted over disapprovingly before reluctantly choosing one or rejecting them altogether. So we only sold half the box after all that effort! (ie. 30 minutes tops, in the 3 shortest streets near us)
I definitely do not know what to do about The Great Chocolate Box Dilemma. I guess what I am really saying is, would you like to buy some chocolate? Please?
The box was handed to me as I left from picking Master 3 up on Tuesday, with the words "Do your best." What they don't realise is that this is the equivalent of handing Amy Winehouse a giant box of heroin with the same parting words. A not especially brilliant idea, considering what happened to that poor woman. Death by chocolate, however, is a distinct possibility for me.
It's true. My name is Vanessa. And I am a chocoholic. With a huge box of chocolates in the house. Which I have to resist. Or sell. Fast. Especially before they cost me a fortune.
You see, in addition to being a raging chocoholic myself, I have also succeeded in causing my children to become chocoholics too. Classy.
Some mothers manage to keep their addiction to themselves, furtively sneaking the Kit Kat from their handbag when the little ones aren't looking. How on Earth do they manage this? My addiction is so all-consuming that this is entirely impossible for me.
Plus, my boys seem to have an internal radar for sensing any chocolate or junk food for miles. Particularly since we only live in a small house. There are only so many hiding places. They have figured them all out, being way smarter than I ever will be.
With their combined intellect, stubbornness and intense drive for junk food in triplicate, they are a force to be reckoned with. Delightedly aware of the fact that I am so incredibly weak willed that whenever we pass the corner shop on the way back from school, all they have to do is say, "Mum, can we get something at the shop? Pleeeeease?" and I will give in, secretly coveting a chocolate treat for myself. So I am in deep trouble with a whole box in the house.
But, how do I sell them? I don't go to paid work. Micky Blue Eyes works from home. I do not wish to go door knocking. I just don't.
The only time I ever did, massive, menacing dogs bounded out to front fences barking furiously, scaring the bejesus out of me and permanently terrorising Master 10, who now has an intense fear of dogs. Or, small, fluffy dogs pattered out to front fences yapping, irritating me beyond belief.
People took an aeon to answer their doors, clearly irritated. Then, demanded to know what we were selling the chocolates for, and looked dubious when I told them. All the good chocolates were sold in the first street, leaving only the less desirable ones, which people tutted over disapprovingly before reluctantly choosing one or rejecting them altogether. So we only sold half the box after all that effort! (ie. 30 minutes tops, in the 3 shortest streets near us)
I definitely do not know what to do about The Great Chocolate Box Dilemma. I guess what I am really saying is, would you like to buy some chocolate? Please?
