Proof God Hates Me

Right, here's what happened. This is all true, so you can effectively treat it as my statement if you want. Its all the Girl's fault.

On Saturday I took my two delightful and not-at-all combative  Kids to see my mum. We had a nice day, playing and chatting. If you ignore the fact that the Boy and Girl spent most of the time hitting each other over the head with various  toys and small bits of furniture. After one particularly vicious incident involving the Girl, the Boy's nuts and a foot, I had to give the Girl a proper telling off. As I opened my mouth she looked at me and threw a pre-emptive tantrum. So, I sat on the sofa and picked her up to calm her down. This appeared to have the opposite effect, 'cos she tried to pull my face off. So I put her down again. I learn quick, you see.

Today I went into work and was asked what happened to my face pretty much all day. Initially I told the truth but after a while I grew tired of saying

"My three year old Girl did it."

Because I started to think people were making a judgement about me. Especially when someone very seriously told me that domestic violence was never acceptable, even when perpetrated by toddlers. And then laughed in my face. So I started making things up and when people asked me what happened to my face I would reply  "Frag grenade" or, simply; "Otter."

Turns out this was a mistake when simultaneously two of my colleagues found the same news article. It said that there had been an attempted sex attack in my town and that the suspect would be recognisable because - and I quote; "the victim had scratched his face several times."

Now obviously it wasn't me. But as my colleague pointed out, I didn't have an alibi, I had scratches on my face and - damningly - had changed my story several times.

I'm going to jail. I blame the Girl.