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4am. Darkness. Then, a whisper:
“Mummy, do you know what Hell is for?”
I open my eyes to a Victorian ghost child, played by my 5 year-old son:
“*I* know what Hell is for.”
A silence. Then:
“HELL IS SHORT FOR HELLO MUMMY DO YOU LIKE MY JOKE HA HA HA.”
Hey guys, have kids.
“Mummy, do you know what Hell is for?”
I open my eyes to a Victorian ghost child, played by my 5 year-old son:
“*I* know what Hell is for.”
A silence. Then:
“HELL IS SHORT FOR HELLO MUMMY DO YOU LIKE MY JOKE HA HA HA.”
Hey guys, have kids.
Reader, I did not like his joke.
