For the past 7 years I’ve snuck a treat in while I’ve been getting the bed time drinks ready for the kids. Nothing massive, the odd square of Dairy Milk, some raisins, a biscuit, some Haribo. It’s the one time I get to munch on something illicit without children materialising from nowhere to demand their (un)fair share.
The other night, the fateful night, I stuffed an orange KitKat in my chops, eschewing the normal routine of breaking it in half and eating through the layers of wafer, and instead just munching the whole thing quickly. I normally steer clear of the individually wrapped chocolate biscuits for fear of getting into trouble over eating the stuff meant for the boys packed lunch but since it’s half term I figured it was all fair game.
I returned with beakers of milk, water and some cough mixture for Ned and climbed into our bed to read a story. Fifi immediately said, “You smell funny Daddy.” I said it was just a Daddy smell and I probably needed a bath but I got the immediate reply, “No Daddy, you smell of orange KitKats. You’ve just eaten an orange KitKat haven’t you.”
7 years and the status quo is finally upset. Damn you orange KitKat, damn you…