Sometimes you make mistakes. You do something, meaning to fix it up afterwards, and then forget. Oops. It happened to me last week. I borrowed my sister's new top. Hey, why not? It suits me a lot better than it will suit her. So maybe I forgot to ask, but I had every intention of slipping it back in her wardrobe and she'd probably never even notice that it went missing.
It wasn't my fault that it got a little bit of red wine spilt on it while we were at the nightclub. It was only a small stain, so it wouldn't really hurt, but I made a note to take it to the drycleaners before I put it back.
After getting home I bundled it up and put it in a bag and tossed it on the seat of the car so I wouldn't forget to drop off at the cleaners. Then Julie offered me a lift to work and I thought why not, we can go out afterwards. So I didn't take my car and the top stayed in it.
I took my car the next day and I noticed the bag and I really meant to stop but I was running just a little late so I put it off for another day. I didn't get another day. My sister was going out and decided to wear her new top and couldn't find it.
"Me? Why blame me? Maybe you just left it somewhere and forgot about it."
"No, I didn't. You borrowed it. You know you did. I can see it in your face. MUM!"
Geez, such a fuss over nothing.
"OK, OK. I borrowed it. It's in the car. I was going to have it dry-cleaned because it got a little spot of wine on it."
"You ruined my blouse?"
"I didn't ruin it. It's just got this tiny drop of wine on it. So small you'd hardly notice. I was just going to get it cleaned on principle."
"You don't have any principles or you wouldn't have pinched it in the first place."
"I didn't pinch it. I just borrowed it. I'll get it now. You'll see. Still as good as new."
I ducked out and grabbed the bag and brought it inside, not even looking at the blouse. I barged into my sister's room, yanking it out of the bag and waving it about.
"See. So problems. Just a little spot. . ."
My voice sort of faded away. I distinctly remembered the blouse as having a small stain on it. Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing it and looking down at it. Holding it up and looking at it and the stain seemed somewhat larger.
"A little spot? Did you spill a complete glass on it? It's ruined and I haven't even had a chance to wear it yet. MUM!"
Our mother ruled in my sister's favour which didn't really surprise me. I was going to have to replace the blouse. Well, I'd kind of figured that out as soon as I saw how the wine stain had managed to spread. I'm still prepared to swear it was only a small stain when it happened. Maybe it was the humidity that caused it to grow.
Like I said, I expected to have to replace the blouse so that didn't really worry me. An irritant but I could always borrow the new blouse. What really irked me was that mum handed out an additional penalty.
"You can take your sister's place sitting for Ian Summerfield's children on Friday evening. I was going to have Jan do it but you'll do just as well. The money you earn will go towards paying for the new blouse."
It wasn't that I objected to sitting for Ian's brats. It was the fact that I would be stuck doing it instead of going out on a Friday night that irritated me. That and the fact that Jan had this enormous grin on her face. For some reason she does object to sitting those brats and was delighted to get out of it. If I'd known in advance I probably could have traded the sitting job for replacing her blouse.
So there I was on a Friday night, a prime dating night, and I had to watch a couple of kids. I turned up at Ian's place at the required time to find the kids were in their pyjamas and ready for bed, quietly playing in their rooms. This was going to be simple.
"OK, Miranda. All the kid's needs have been addressed," he said. "Give them another half hour of playing and then tuck them into bed. You'll need to read them their story first but they know which book to get.
There is one thing. The TV in the front room has been set up to record the game tonight. If you want to watch TV use the smaller set in the playroom, because if you muck around with the main set and stuff up the recording I will cheerfully strangle you and bury you under the kid's sandpit."
"Um, right," I said. "Half an hour playing, read them their story, tuck them into bed and, if I stuff up your recording of the big game, strangulation and burial under the sandpit. Got it."
Ian departed and I watched some TV in the playroom. The half hour passed and I read the kids their story and tucked them into bed. Then I watched a bit more TV. I got bored with the TV and went looking to see what DVD's Ian had.
Ian had DVD's laid on. Dozens of them, for kids. On to the grown-up stuff. Do you like football matches? Ian has quite a few. And Martial art movies. Some nice action movies if you're a man interested in watching another man running around beating the snot out of all the bad guys. Finally I found a few older DVD's that might be described as suitable for a feminine audience, namely me. I carted them back to the playroom to watch them.
No DVD player in the playroom, was there. All the wires were there but no DVD player. I went and snuck a look in the kid's rooms to see if one of them was awake. Little Paul was, bless his sleepy head.
"Paul, sweetie, where's the DVD for the playroom?" I coaxed.
"Um, gone to shop. Dad says we shouldn't put peanut butter on DVD's and took it to the shop."
"OK. Thanks, Paul. Nightie night." He snuggled down in his bed, eyes drooping.
Peanut butter on a DVD and then play it. Yuk! So, no DVD for the playroom.
I wandered back to see what was on the TV and it was still the same crap that I'd rejected earlier. I wandered back to the main room, looking at the TV there. I took a closer look at the recorder. It was the same one as we had and I knew how to program it. All I had to do was take note of the times and channel and reset it once my film was over. I checked the times to ensure that I had time to play my film and yes, ample time. Well, sufficient, anyway.
Not wanting to trust to memory I found a piece of paper and wrote down the times and the station to be recorded and put it next to the set. Then I popped out the blank disk, put in my DVD and sat back to watch.
Halfway through the film there came the sound of a crying child. I paused the film and went to see what was wrong. Janet, the three year old, was standing next to her bed, looking a trifle soggy.
"What's wrong, honey?" I asked, although my nose was already telling me the problem.
"I wet myself," she wailed. "I went to potty but I was slow and I'm all wet."
A quick check of the bed showed it was dry. Yes! Score one for me. That meant just wash and change Janet and wiped the pee off the floor. Easy. A quick strip and wash and nice clean pyjamas and Janet was asleep again while I did a quick clean-up of the wet floor. Thank god it was linoleum and not carpet. Now back to my movie.
I settled down to watch the rest of the movie and thoroughly enjoyed it. When it was over I put the DVD away and started flicking through channels to see if there was anything worthwhile on now. I finished up tuning in to one of those zany real life shows. They're always good for a laugh.
I was still watching the real life shows when Ian returned, and at the same time a horrible memory of strangulation and burial under the sandpit surfaced. I'd completely forgotten to reset the recorder for the big game. I was dead. Best thing was to confess quickly.
"Um, Ian, about your game. There was a power fluctuation shortly after you left and everything reset. I didn't know what times or channel to use or I would have reset it."
"What? Blast it! Power surges aren't supposed to be able to affect either the TV or the recorder."
He strode over to check the recorder and I could tell he was furious. He was even more furious when he turned back to face me holding a small piece of paper in his hand. Uh-oh. I'd noted down times and channel, hadn't I, and left it where I'd find it easily.
