Fester comes into the office and asks "What was that ruckus downstairs?"
(he'd been in the kitchen at the time but allowed me to go downstairs to sort it out).
I explained ...
There had been the sound of a slap followed by Ferretfingers screaming.
In the living room I found Thunderthighs looking guilty and anxious and leafing through the Argos catalogue.
"Did you hit your brother?"
"Yes"
So I took the Argos catalogue and clouted him with it (there's a lot of my mother in me).
"Don't hit your brother it's bullying and cowardly. Why did you hit him?"
"He was trying to cut my toenails."
Ferretfingers has a thing about nails. He's picked all his off and will start on anybody else's that come within range. When they shared a room he used to pick off Thunderthighs' toenails when he was asleep. I'd go in at night and find him standing in the dark with his hand under the foot of the top bunk duvet.
"Well you can't blame him. I keep telling you to cut your toenails. You're starting to look like a hen, the length of them."
Then "Ferretfingers, don't pick your brother's toe-nails, he doesn't like it."
Husband watches silently as I collapse with hysterical laughter half way through this account.
It's no wonder I've gone grey ....
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