Evil stepmother turns to crap dad smilling and says “When she got home last night brat
girl told me that bob had injured himself at work. He's done
something to his ankle. She said he was going to the hospital today
to have it checked. She just texted me saying, 'Hey mom, im at bobs.
Hes has broke his ankle lol' ... that girl can be so cruel
sometimes!”

“That's my girl.” replies crap dad
vaingloriously.

Txt from Crap dad to brat girl: “R U
joining us for tea tonight, we r making a curry?”

Txt from brat girl to crap dad: “No i
tld mom i wor at bobs tonite. Sorry. Xww"

Txt from crap dad to brat girl: "ESM's
response, 'did she? Well mum weren't listening'"

Txt from brat girl to crap dad: “Orite
wel u no now dnt u. lol. Av a nice curry. Xxx"

“Do you want some crumpets?” asks
evil stepmother of the famished girl when she gets home from college.

“Ummm yes!” is the enthusiastic
response ... “but you 'ave to do 'em my special way...”

“first you have to toast 'em lightly
on the bottom – but not so they are crispy like you like em, then
you do the same on the top – so they just start toasting. Then you
put loads 'n loads of butta on 'em 'n then you put 'em back under
grill till they're nice an crispy on top” continues the girl
obliviously.

“Ok” sighs evil stepmother as she
turns to do exactly as she's told.

“Erm, haven't we forgotten something?”
asks evil stepmother.

“No I don't think so” responds crap
dad.

“I'm sure we have. Brat girl returned
home on Sunday after partying all weekend, so its not her. We've
ordered the shopping on-line. I dunno, I feel as though we've
forgotten to do something” reflects evil stepmother.

Later

“We've been spending an awful lot of
time on flickr... that's it... the blog. We haven't posted in weeks.
We came back from our break and neglected it” gasps evil
stepmother.

“I blame brat girl. We hardly ever
see her nowadays... she's not providing the material she used to.
She even managed to get her act together for mothers day, a card,
present and wrapping paper all home made and on time. Though she was
completely wrecked and hungover and not much company. Perhaps the old
saying, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' is true” ruminates
crap dad.

The problem parents look at each other
and simultaneously say, “Naaagh!”

“If I were askin' fo' money to go out
on piss, ya wunt give it mi. So am askin' ya ta give mi sum fo the
cinema.”

“Wow! I feel great. I'm in such a
good mood. I'm gunna get a distinction fer mi art. I saw an aeroplane
and I'm so excited, only ten weeks to mi 'oliday. I were told that I
'ave a good sense of proportion and that I use mi colours really
well. I can't wait til I'm on mi 'oliday. I'll be able to get a tan,
chill out and get drunk. It's gunna be great. Mi tutor said that mi
portfolio were the best e'd seen all day. I've done more work than
anyone. I'm really pleased. I need to start thinkin about what
clothes I'm gunna take wi mi. Even the tutor that I don't really get
on wi said good things about mi work. They want mi to do an eight
foot paintin fer mi final project, which is going to be a pop art
piece on autumn. They were even talkin' about where they were goin
ter hang it in the college after mi exhibition. How mad are they? I
'ope bob's as excited as I am about the 'oliday.”

“Can I ave the last piece of
haloumi?” asks brat girl.

As quick as a flash evil stepmother
says, “Only if you finish your cous cous first”.

“But I don't wont t'” moans brat
girl.

“Go on, eat it all up darling. All
you've had is a spoonful of cous cous, a couple of pieces of haloumi, half a pita bread and you haven't had any of the salad. You need to
be eating more than that” soothes evil stepmother.

“No I don't. I'm seventeen now. I
know mi body and I don't won't to finish off mi cous cous.” states
brat girl.

“Go on, go on, go on” intervenes
crap dad cheekily.

“No. And you can't make me!” says
brat girl as she picks up the last piece of haloumi, takes a bit from
it, and with a big grin on her face flounces out of the room.

The problem parents hear her chanting
as she makes her way to the kitchen and off up the stairs, “You
can't make me, You can't make me....”