Falling through the Cracks

It still eludes me that morning halitosis and a dry toothbrush could give away the lie that I'd done my teeth. Most unfair.
Anyway, my final day at childminding at the Sailing Club was the minibus day trip to Staunton Country Park.
We ran around and fed the goats and bought 'Jitterbugs' in the shop, yes, the same ones that I elected to give to the charity shop the last time I had a clear-out. Once we'd finally overcome the barrier they put up to stop Gypsies invading the park, we bought gobstoppers again. Erin and I both dropped ours but they qualified under the 5 second rule and I dribbly-sucked mine all the way to swimming. I was so tired at the pool I failed to show off my new moves but did a decent duck dive and swam along the bottom of the pool for a portion of my final length.
Everything was fine at home because I had Minecraft. But as soon as Jof got back from her gruelling 4 days coping with her mothers' funeral, I suddenly got terminal leg-falling-off. I cried my way through the supper I'd previously demanded and was the very epitome of a modern wounded soldier. We dissolved in fits of laughter when I'd farted on Jofs' head. But by then, I'd been awarded chocolate and legrubs, so who's the winner now, eh?