They’re doing that thing where they make food-based double entendres all the time, thinking it goes over our heads. It goes over Molly’s head, she’s only six and she never listens to Mum or Dad anyway. I guess it used to go over my head too, when I was little. But I’m older now, and more sophisticated. I know what they’re up to and it makes me want to vomit. On Friday night, we had chicken Kiev and baked potatoes. As she was serving, Mum said, ‘Dave, could you get the spuds out?’ And Dad said, ‘I’m always happy to get my spuds out for you.’ This is what passes for humour in our house. Though that wasn’t quite as sick-making as today when we had a BBQ down in the park. Mum was carrying too much from the car and nearly dropped a pack of burger buns. ‘Let me take hold of your baps, Susan,’ Dad said. ‘Don’t squeeze them too hard,’ Mum replied, giggling. How can I make them stop?! Surely they know I understand the concept of the double entendre, even if Molly is too young to get it.
