With guests gone, it’s all back to normal in the house.
We’re all completely exhausted and “stuff” is back in our lives. A trip to the local craft markets with a friend, accompanied by Chippie (standard) and Monkey Boy, who spent the entire trip there talking about how he was going to buy us all small pancakes and all kinds of lovely foody things, then finds a book he wants, buys that, swindles some dollars out of my friend to pay the difference and our nice foody things are all forgotten about.
Home we go, everyone tired, Grumpy puts Chippie to sleep and we have some quiet time. During which time, Godzilla decides he needs a password for his Mii (on the Wii) because, obviously the fitness levels, height and weight of a 6 year old are highly confidential and can’t be accessed by any other member of the family.
(Who can’t touch the bloody thing when he’s there anyway, because he won’t get off it!)
Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite have the sensibilities of his older sibling, whom came up with a relevant and easy to remember password, thought of a random combination of letters he liked at the time, didn’t write then anywhere and promptly forgot them.
Attempts by all family members to decipher the code (“it was something something one one”, “I don’t think it had ‘one one’ at the end”, “I think it was something something one one” etc) where fruitless, and the Wii asked us to verify the user by entering his height.
Which is fine, except that this data was entered, we think, Christmas 2008. Given he has deleted several users, possibly his own, fiddled around with settings, colours and look, and added many, many other users, and has subsequently been banned from going into that part of the program, we have absolutely no idea what weight it is he entered.
We think it could be anywhere between1 and 2 metres.
Frankly, I have better things to do than attempt to work through every 4 number combination possible on the number pad, or guess the height of an imaginative 6 year old boy.
I make dinner instead; a lovely roast beef dinner, vegies, gravy, the works.
Godzilla refused the pumpkin (as he does) and added tomato sauce to the roast potato, Monkey Boy ate most of his and Godzilla’s cauliflower, but only the bits with cheese on them, and Chippie put each bit into his mouth, said “yuk” and placed it back on the plate, dropped it onto the floor or threw it across the table (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)
He then helped himself to a slice of bread and some floor sweepings for his main meal, replaced a small piece of semi-masticated bread back into the bag (thank goodness for the need to make school lunches tomorrow!) and appeared satisfied with his dinner.
Grumpy on the other hand consumed all remaining food items, depriving me of a potential scrumptious lunch that could have consisted of something other than Vegemite sandwiches.