The day began at around 4am when a rustling beside my bed made me stir. Opening my eyes I saw a small woman with flowing dark hair, and a white nightgown standing motionless in the moonlight beside my bed staring intently at me. Naturally, I shrieked and sat bolt upright. The small woman with the dark flowing hair and the white nightgown also shrieked then burst into tears.
Three glasses of milk and a couple of Jammie Dodgers later, Annabelle finally calmed down. I, it appears, had scared her to death (!!??).
Made mental note to google what to do about children who creep around the house like cat burglar’s in the middle of the night.
Remembered at about 2pm that I had completely forgotten to buy any Easter eggs for tomorrow, the thought of hitting the shops in search of Easter goodies not appealing. Spent half an hour trying to see if I could get eggs delivered online, plan rapidly aborted.
Interrupted Annabelle’s iCarly dance-athon to let her know we were heading in direction of supermarket.
Suspicions that Teenager’s room has covert CCTV monitors placed around the house increase as the minute the word ‘supermarket’ is mentioned he mysteriously appears behind me with a list of items he would like purchased on his behalf. When I pointed out that he could in fact get dressed, brush his teeth and come with us he muttered something about Skype and disappeared back into his lair.
On arrival at supermarket I realise the obvious flaw in my plan to surreptitiously acquire Easter eggs; Annabelle is with me. This crisis is averted when she spots the toy aisle and disappears into the crowd with a turn of speed that a Cheetah would envy. My immediate dilemma is whether to follow her (I really should) or hope for the best.
Hoping for the best, I manage to find the Easter egg section and with growing panic note the empty areas that at one time contained such mysterious treasures as ‘Luxury Milk Chocolate Eggs and ‘Happy Easter Chicks. An equally frantic lady approaches and I dive on a battered Smarties egg and a battered Dairy Milk egg.
On the drive home I make a mental note to make sure I buy the eggs a week earlier next year but am at least relieved that Annabelle is unaware of the purpose of our trip. Her innocent belief that the Easter Bunny delivers her eggs remains intact. Maybe I can explain the grungy appearance of the eggs away by saying that EB had to bring them on a long and arduous journey to get them there on time. When I get into the house the phone is ringing, it’s my Mum asking what time we will be there for dinner. After a brief discussion I put Annabelle on the phone to have a quick chat.