Boy guinea pigs do poos that are nearly double the size of girl guinea pig poos. Boy Two’s money earning enterprise stretched last week to the care of a pair of guineas called Fred and Ginger. Mostly we spent the time amusing ourselves by anthropomorphising the cross-kitchen gazes.
‘Ooh, Cheerio I don’t half fancy you. You’re the sexiest hairy potato I’ve ever seen.’
Sotto voce: ‘Is he looking Queenie? Is my fur ok?’
And so on… (Nights are long in our part of the world). Other than in our imaginations, there didn’t seem to be much difference between a sow and a boar. Apart, that is, from the poo. Queenie and Cheerio leave dottels the size and shape of Tictacs. Fred and Ginger’s were more like disappointing kind of jelly beans you get in supermarkets. What could it possibly mean? There may be something to conclude about the genders being apparently similar yet, bowel-deep, they are different, on the other hand, it could be all a lot of shit. (See what I did there?)
Birthdays are more than just cake… They’re donuts, burgers and Irn-Bru. Boy Two celebrated his 17th birthday this week. Obviously, there will be celebrations where parents don’t get a speaking part, but the ones I witnessed were, without doubt, calorific. The boy, when asked, quickly sketched me a diagram of his dietary requirements. Elsewhere, recently he’s been lucky enough to do work experience that he hopes will help him on the way to a medical career.
It’s not what you do, it’s the way that you think about it (part 264). I know it’s old, but I stumbled on it on:
If we’re lucky, we can benefit from Mo’s insight without enduring his tragedy. I was particularly struck by the distinction between fun and happiness and I might have something more to say about that later. Meantime, don’t expect too much and you’re bound to be happier.