Dem Damn PPP’s

For the majority of the time, money is no object in my house. Seriously. I defy anyone to find an object that even vaguely resembles money. Not even behind the cushions on the sofa. I’ve checked.

This frequently leads to moments that my 19 year old son calls PPP’s. Poor People’s Problems. I have had two such moments today. The first happened as I attempted to unwrap the last remaining toilet roll, one handed, whilst clearing the bathroom floor of wet towels, and discarded underpants. The roll broke free of its bonds, and I then performed a brief display of my keepy uppy skills, before I managed to slam dunk it into the toilet bowl! I now have it propped on the heated towel rail, in the forlorn hope it will dry out enough to serve purpose.

I then spent a very long ten minutes carefully rolling up my small tube of hugely overpriced lip cream in order to extract the very last smidge. It suddenly squirted out, shot over my shoulder, and landed on the dog! For a moment I toyed with the idea of retrieving it, but even I have my limits!

Never mind!! Pay day tomorrow!!