My little sister comes over to me at the piano as I'm mid-song and works the Puss In Boots magic on me. You know, the huge glistening eyes and drooping bottom lip? I'm sure there were violins involved.
"Becky, pleeease will you play Polly Pocket with me? None of the boys will and they're not even doing anything important."
How could I refuse? So I settle down for a game of Polly Pocket. It involves American accents and a lot of accessorizing, but it's not so bad. Minutes later, Jed appears and asks to play. Kizzy, far surpassing her older brothers in kindness and forgiveness, agrees to let him join in.
It was a mistake. What had begun as the Pollys having a girly sleepover and fashion show, became combat girls night. Jed's 'Polly' got into a hair-raising car chase on the way to the party and ended up on the central reservation of the motorway. The other Pollys had to mourn briefly before seeking revenge on the hit-and-run driver and excersising their kung fu skills.
It made me giggle anyway. It happens with most games in our house. The presence of 5 teenage boys means that nothing stays calm for long. I bet you've never played Combat Scrabble...
