Of dark evenings and the need to skip make up

It has been a series of wet evenings for the past few days which has meant that the brat has to spend his evenings cooped indoors or raising Cain in the rather vast and echoing marble vault that comprises the lobby of the building we live in.

Last evening seemed a little well behaved, with a random cloud dotting the sky and no real rain cloud type in the immediate vicinity. The brat draped himself on the grills which keep him from getting into the balcony and playing Superman.

"Mamma, is nod raining!"

"Hmm," said a non commital mamma, reluctant to change out of ratty tshirt and worse tracks which had begun life back when Michael Jackson was a young black boy.

"Letsh go down," the added sibilance in his speech coming forth from the wide gap now in his upper set.

"Umm. Are any of your friends down in the park?" asked mamma, loathe to give up the absolutely fabulous Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann. Have you read it yet? No? Go read it now. This minute. Writing like this makes mamma want to go hunt down the author and kiss his typing fingers in reverence. But I digress.

The brat clambered higher on the grills and squinted down into the patch of visible park.

"I can see A, an V, and K," he squealed in joy, and took himself off at bullet speed to his room to emerge sartorially appropriate for a park visit in a Spiderman costume.

Mamma heaved her cellulite out of the armchair.

"Okay, give me five minutes, I will change and get ready."

The brat stood around. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. While mamma washed her face. Decided what to change into. Changed into something and then realised that flab on display was at snigger levels, so changed into tent, to realise that a small tail stuck at the back could have her a role in a pantomime as an elephant, so changed into compromise fit tee which was not too snug but yet structured.

The brat paced the room.Mamma reached out for the deodorant and sprayed some on self.


Then mamma took out the kohl pencil. And the lip gloss. And the powder compact. What? What? What? I would not be caught without my lipgloss even if I were a cadaver.  The brat was reaching the absolute limits of his patience.

The brat rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.


"Cmon, cmon, letsh go down. My frens are waiding fer me."

Mamma reached for the hairbrush.

"Mamma is night. Is darkly outside. No one can see yer face. Now cmon and don waste my time."

Err?