What was she thinking?
Perhaps it could have been OK, perhaps it would have been lovely, if the scheduled ASDA grocery order had arrived on time.
But no. Instead, a mere text arrived 10 minutes before the end of the booking slot. So the brave, slightly naive, Mum decided to call customer service, in the hope that they could help. The convo basically went like this:
"I've been informed that my order is going to be late, I need to leave at 9:15, will it arrive by then?"
"Your order will be with you at 10:15"
"I won't be in then, I'm taking my darling little cherubs out this morning and it starts at 9:30, if it's going to be that late you'll need to cancel it"
"OK, that's cancelled"
(This is a much abridged version, otherwise this story would not only scare you witless but bore you stupid).
The mum, much disheartened by this turn of events, wrestles her little prince into the pram and ushers her princess out of the door, carries the
pumpkin pram down the steps and sets off at a brisk pace, already 15 minutes late to the ball disco...
Only to have to turn back when the ASDA delivery man appears and attempts to deliver the cancelled shopping which no one back at HQ had told him about. With no Fairy Godmother appearing to help, the mum shoves some frozen stuff into the freezer, crosses her fingers and hopes for the best when it comes to the chilled bags and marches off down the road.
And then get to the bus stop and be informed by the princess that she "needs to wee and it is coming out now".
Because Princesses can't possibly use the toilet before leaving the house. Even when asked five times. It's just not a Princess thing to do. Instead, Princesses prefer to watch their Mum panic, grab their little brothers nappy and shove it down the princess' knickers before the floodgates open...
Disaster averted and, sometime later, the venue found, it is time to PARTY.
Only for the true villain of this story to emerge from the darkened shadows of a cramped and noisy hall.
Like all really scary villains, this one was not seen in the flesh. The poor mum in our tale did not see that which brought her to the edge of insanity. But whilst the Mum tried in vain to keep her eyes on both children, some ghastly prince of darkness (or possibly an ugly, moronic henchmen) decided that it would be perfectly fine to leave not one, but both doors to the building open.
It could have been a scene from a movie. The angelic (most of the time) ginger haired prince looks up from playing cars to see the sunlight beckoning him. It whispers in a quiet voice, it speaks of fun, of adventure, of excitement. The soundtrack turns to one of impending doom as the unsuspecting mother turns to pick her princess off the floor and kiss her knee better whilst her son toddles off into danger.
What will happen to the child?
Will he wander into the conveniently placed river or the extremely busy road? Will he fall? Will he get lost?
The mother soothes her princess and looks around for her prince. She can't see him. She looks into each dark corner of the hall, staring intently into each child's face searching for her own little one.
He's not there. And then, she sees. The open door. And beyond it, the main door, open. And she runs faster than she has even run before, outside and round the side of the building. She spots her son and makes a grab for him just before he runs into the car park.
After narrowly escaping a fate worse than death, the mum drags her children home before collapsing in a sobbing heap on the sofa and vowing never again to dare the perils of baby and toddler discos. Staying home and watching Paw Patrol on repeat is much safer after all.