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"Drugs?" Annie says, kids are real street-wise these days.
"Yeah, she's a bit loopy, like imagine if you had heaps and heaps of cordial and sweets, like that."
"Anyway, so she arrives, and the parents notice she's a bit nervous, but don't make much of it, and they leave
for their party. Then, about half way through the party the mum gets a call on the mobile phone from the babysitter.
"Oh hi, I hope you're having a good time, I'd thought I'd just call and say that the roast is done."
The baby-sitter said calmly.
"What Roast?" The mother said.
"The Roast Chicken that you left for me and that I put in the oven, well it's done."
The curious thing was that the parents never left a chicken for the babysitter to cook. Worried by this strange
comment, they rushed home immediately. When they arrived home they found their newborn in the oven, cooked to a
golden crisp."
Annie's draw dropped and she looked at me with disbelief - maybe she didn't get it, I thought. So I explained that
the girl was high and had thought the baby was a chicken and had put it in the oven.
"I know! I know! You don't need to explain!" She pulled the covers over her head and I wished her a goodnight.
I turned the hall light off and, feeling somewhat chuffed with myself, I thought, Wow, that Poppins was right "In
every job that must be done, there is an element of fun" fancy that.
The next morning we left for football. We got into the car and straight away I could tell they were a touch unnerved
to have me behind the wheel after the video game the night before. I screeched out of the driveway and laughed
manically, just a gag you see. Annie started to cry. I had to pull over and tell her I was just kidding and that
I was actually a licensed driver and quite a good one - it was a little degrading when they all cheered for me
to produce me license as verification, which I did, then they all laughed at my photo where I have one eye closed
and my mouth slightly open. With the peace restored, I drove off at a leisurely pace and the kids started to play
a little game where they pick someone out on the street, and talk about them in as much detail as possible, pretending
that they've known them all their life.
"He likes horses" Annie said, pointing to a fairly unremarkable man in a tweed blazer and dark slacks,
"But doesn't like cookies."
"Why do you think he doesn't like cookies?" I asked.
"Because his head looks like a cookie." She had a point, and everyone laughed in acknowledgment of her
perceptive comment.
While the kids were compassionate and always seemed to look for that aspect of humanity in their people on the
street, I tended to be wary, judgemental and far less gracious. How many people has this guy killed? I bet she's
got the clapper. He's definitely on drugs. "Look at this guy, a beret! A beret for chrisakes!"
I turned to the kids, "There's no hope for him." I imparted. Rebecca and Billy stared off into middle-
space, while Annie chewed thoughtfully on a plastic multi-coloured worm.
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