Tuesday, 22 November 2011

I Do NOT Require A Manicure!

A couple of days ago, Mummy decided I needed a manicure and pedicure.  I could have told her from the beginning this would be a mistake but she rarely listens to me.  She insisted my fingernails were approaching claw status even as I insisted they were just about perfect for a good and satisfying head scratch.  She insisted I would soon need bigger shoes in order to accommodate my toenails while I insisted they were lovely and crunchy when I stuck my feet in my mouth.  Needless to say, we could come to no amicable agreement and out came the nailclippers.  There was, however, no way I was going to take this plan lying down.  Well, based on my current physical abilities, I rephrase the last...I wasn't giving in without a fight.


You see, I had been comfortably leaning on Mummy, playing with Bee.  She sat on the floor coo-ing at my admittedly adorable antics while I flatly ignored her.  I was talking to Bee.  Mummy made the mistake of suggesting to Daddy that I was nicely calm and quiet so that it would be a perfect time to attempt a trim.  I continued talking to Bee; I knew they thought I hadn't heard them but in fact, I was quietly plotting.  Daddy passed the nailclippers to Mummy and she gently took one of my hands in hers.  At this point, I gave her *The Look*.  Sadly for her, she didn't notice.  So I started to wave my arms, wildly gesticulating at everything within view.  Mummy clung on and refused to let go as she attempted to bring the nailclippers within biting distance of a finger.  I increased the strength of my waving and began to whack and thwack all the soft bits of Mummy that I could reach (my loyal readers will know there are a fair few of those).  


Mummy started to mutter at me; I believe they were intended to be soothing words to calm me down - of course they had the opposite effect.  How DARE she?  I LIKE my nails this length!  Well.  I waved.  I whacked.  I thwacked.  I wriggled.  I jiggled.  I squirmed.  Eventually, Mummy was clinging on for dear life yet still determinedly working her way across my hand.  She attempted to bring in the big guns and suddenly, Daddy was there jiggling my toys in my face as he tried to distract me from the task at hand.  Daddy puhhhleeeaaaazzzeeee.  There's no way I'm falling for that trick.  I know precisely what you're trying to do.....MOTHER LET GO OF MY HAND THIS INSTANT!!!!


By this point, she had moved onto my second hand and I stuffed my blunt nails into my mouth in a valiant effort to protect what had been.  I tried to roll off her but she's adept at catching.  I tried to wiggle down her legs to reach the floor but clearly, she is beginning the process of growing mummy tentacles as one hand secured my body, while a second secured my hand and a mysterious third continued clipping my nails.  




This.  


Means.  


War.  




I began to howl.  I screamed and I wailed knowing full well, Mummy can never resist my pathetic cries.  Aha!  Success at last!  The clippers were dropped as Mummy carefully checked to make sure she hadn't hurt me and she began to cuddle me.  Mmmm, this is nice Mummy.  I always like a cuddle.  What the...??? I don't believe it!  Just as I stopped crying, she's picking up the clippers again!  It isn't FAIR!!!!!  Daaaaaddddyyyyy!!!!!!  Heeeellllppppppp!!  I attempted to squeeze out some real tears but by this point, Mummy had moved onto my toes.


Well.  This was NOT going to be.  I felt a Herculean strength flooding into my dimpled little legs and I pushed and I kicked, and I scrabbled and I wiggled, all at the same time.  I heard Mummy saying, (somewhat sarcastically it has to be said,) "A little help here?!"  I think she was talking to Daddy.  That's usually her Talking To Daddy voice.


By now, Daddy was hanging onto my leg while he virtually lay across my thrashing body as Mummy held my desperately kicking foot as it tried to thump her hand out of the way, yet somehow she still kept right on clipping.  This woman is as stubborn as I am!  I wonder where she gets my stubbornness from?  I heard Mummy asking how on earth a seven-month-old baby managed to get quite so strong but I ignored her.  I was busy.


Slowly she worked her way across my feet but I knew I was making my mark as she stopped every now and then to wipe the sweat from her brow.  I may not be winning but at least I'm making my views on the situation known!  Come to think of it, I think my views are likely to be known in Nottingham, never mind throughout Telford.  I do have Mummy's lungs after all.  Even if she has my stubbornness.


I did rather wonder what the scene might have looked like to an outsider - a small, helpless baby, thrashing in utter panic as one adult lays across him and another holds his limbs in a deathgrip and refuses to let go....yes indeed, I told you I was being mistreated.  And have I mentioned that I DON'T WANT a pedicure??????????????????????


(Some time later)


Sigh.  
Grumpy sigh.  
Very grumpy sigh.


Mummy won.


My fingernails will no longer make dents in my head.  My toenails are no longer crunchy in my mouth.


I am NOT impressed.


If you need me, I will be talking to Bee.  It seems, he is the only one who listens to me.


Fortunately, I like my Bee.


Hurrumph.


The same cannot be said of my Mummy or my Daddy.  


I intend to have words with them.


As soon as I can talk.


So there.

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