naked dancing in the mornings

Kids have taken to wowing us with 'naked dancing' first thing in the morning. They rush into our bedroom and whoop with glee as they prance about in the altogether. They think it's hilarious. What they fail to understand is that nothing is hilarious at six in the morning. No, not even that very funny scottish comedian with the beard whose name suddenly escapes me because I'm developing early-onset dementia. What is his name? You know the one - married to the woman who used to be in Not the Nine O Clock News. Deary me, I am useless these days.

Later this morning, when I was capable of functioning, Twin 1 drew me aside for a private word. "mummy," she said, "d'you know what? sometimes I pretend I have a willy."

"Oh?" I replied, thinking we should perhaps start funnelling her child benefit into a trust fund for gender-realignment surgery.

She took a breath.

"Yes, and sometimes, I pretend I have a mermaid's tail."

"mmm, really?" I said, relief coursing through my being.

That's okay then. I suppose. Unless in fifteen years time, or so, she says, "I just always felt like a mythical aquatic-human hybrid trapped in a small girl's body..." and we have to spend the trust fund on having a tuna-tail grafted onto her waist...