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Chores chores chores, and I thought some delegation would help. I politely ask the six-year-old to help me, she does something and quickly shifts her gaze back to the idiot box. It's nearing dinner time and it's not just me growling, but also my tummy.
I urge her to get going and do a bit more, she does get moving but slows down again. I finally lose it and snap, "will you just finish what you're asked to do?!"
She quietly gets up, turns off the television and tidies up - books back in place, toys stacked up, crayons dug out from sofa edges, and then takes a seat on the dining table. As I'm plating up for her, she mumbles "I know what this is"
"What?" I say distracted.
"You're my stepmum, aren't you?!"
"YES YOU ARE, my stepmum! Cinderalla's stepmum always gave too many chores for her to do. You give me chores too. Poor me,"
By now she's shooting daggers at me and is on the verge of switching on the waterworks.
I don't know whether to laugh, cry, bang my head on the wall or stuff food into my mouth.
Gulping down only air, I kneel down near her and start saying something remotely sensible when she stomps off with one last salvo,
"I just hope Appa knows the truth - that you are my stepmum!!!!"
I get up, pick up my pride, take a seat and grab a big bite of my spicy methi thepla. I can deal with a melodramatic young lady, just not on an empty stomach.
PS: Anyone who dares to lecture me on how a good mum would have taken care of the hangry child's dinner first will be asked to shut up and keep their opinions to themselves.