I am man, hear me whimper

I was at home last week, for Easter. As expected Molly and I exchanged words and significant looks.

She hasn't been going to crèche recently. Every morning, she gives a few coughs for appearances sake and declares she is sick. Once this has been accepted, she retires to her room¹ and watches "TeeeeVTeeees," which is what she calls television.²

I took to asking her when she was going back to crèche. At first she would cough and repeat she was sick; I rebutted with,"Oh... sounds like you need to go to the doctor." She knew she was rumbled so didn't use that line of defence again.

Instead she out-and-out ignored me. Her blanking of me was impressive, she gave absolutely no indication that she even heard me, not a dismissive shake of the head, not a turn of the shoulder; I may as well have been an imaginary friend that she had out-grown. I was so appalled that I took my tale of being-ignored-by-my-3-year-old-sister to Facebook... More the fool was I:

You read it right there, folks; My mother pwned me, pwned me royally. The irony of it all! I discovered just that weekend that my mother had unfriended me on Facebook because of a harmless comment I put on my page.³ Scant days before the above flaming, I had added her again as a friend. Surely it is ironic?

To cap it off, Molly asked her father if he could kill me; She said it so sweetly.

I have noted her cunning in the past, compared to the two youngest brothers even now her guile is otherworldly. Mr Kipling doesn't just make exceedingly good cakes, he makes exceedingly good points too:

...But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male...⁴

When the blanking seemed to have no effect on me, ["never let them see you bleed!"], she took to giving me the coldest, flintiest stare I have seen on any one, including Jon Hamm and Ian McShane! In the event of my [un-]timely demise by her machinations,^4.5 I would that this be my epitaph:

Us men,

We never have a chance.

Here we are;

Harmless dreamers;

Happy to play our games,

While the women,

The women plot and maneuver.

Sure, they call it "playing house";

I don't buy it.

Not for a second.⁵

****

¹It isn't technically her room; It's the sitting room; Supposedly a common area.

²Eimhin and I call Cárthach "DVDs." When he was younger, the thing he rattled off most often was: "We play Playstation, watch deeeevdeeeeeees [the "v" is supposed to be barely perceptible, like a caught breath] on Máirtin's laptop. It be OK" - It should be noted that Cárthach (now 6) is a computer savvy sweetheart, he has the shortcut keys down for opening movies, going to fullscreen on them and he can google online games pertaining to cartoons he likes and gets the trailers for films he wants to see; I played him in a turn based game, while I was at home, and he told me that he had my strategy figured out. Bless.ⁱ

³

I edited the image to protect the identities of those involved.

⁴From Rudyard Kipling's The Female of the Species.

^4.5The inclusion of "un-" will very much decide on who you are talking to... on reflection it probably won't come up.

⁵We'll say this is from my pink period..

***

ⁱHe only thought he did; I just about beat him.