I am writing this to all you Grandparents out there, on behalf of Bets and me. I just read the earlier story about the Yank who’s lost his wife, well something similar happened to us. And I can tell you, if it’s not bad enough losing your wife it’s even worse misplacing a grandchild.
The family were all together at Dave and Jean’s, enjoying the Christmas barbie in the yard, everyone laughing and chucking down tubes, y’know the usual. Inside the kids were screaming and playing with their new toys and throwing wrappers about. Everything was just darlin, until later when we did a head count and discovered we were down a kid.
We got organized smartish and looked everywhere for the little’un, he’s only two, whilst his mother interviewed the other kids, just in case they’d stuffed him in the micro-wave or the washer, we even dug right to the bottom of the freezer in the garage, but there was no sign of the little blighter, not even in the new pool.
General concensus is that he must have got rolled up with all the wrapping paper and dumped in a garbage bag and put out on the street by Big Tony; he was so lathered he wouldn’t have noticed a buck roo jumping about inside the bag and he had his headphones on.
We reckoned the bin-men, who were doing extra holiday duty, must have picked him up late afternoon all keen after their Christmas Boxes this year, they’re good lads.
Mary’s down at the incinerator plant now going through all the bags; Joe’s still here calming himself nicely in the yard.
The rest of us, well we’re here, fingers crossed waiting for news. I dashed this off
‘cause I know there’ll be grandparents out there still with Christmas trash to put out. Take care, better learn from us and check to see there’s no kiddies in there before you chuck it .
A cautionary seasonal tale from West Australia