In Prison for Christmas

Yesterday we put some antique brass shell casings on eBay to make some space and some money, spent ages packing them up and measuring the boxes etc.
Overnight stuffy eBay officialdom removed ALL 10 adverts for contravening weapons & armaments sales policy. I'm a convicted arms dealer. As Merle Haggard said it, I turned 21 in prison doing life without parole...
School was easy because we didn't do much work apart from make up our own verse to do in the class poem which was supposed to be witnessed by our parents, never happened yet. I did my bit about shape-shifters with venom-vision who can kill by looking at you.
Today was the school Xmas fayre. Jof (who is now on the parental-meddlers group) volunteered us to be Satan's little helpers and organise the queue for the grotto. In the end, not only did Santa not have a grotto but more of a podium with backdrop, but Ginger Lenny's mum allocated us a different role.
Because we were beginners she gave us the job nobody else wanted, the crap leftovers stall. It consisted of huge amounts of scarves and gloves (assorted, pre-wrapped in Xmas paper) and dozens of plug-in air fresheners, also wrapped, with a single unwrapped demo model for each category. The gloves had original Woolworths' label attached and the scarves were the ones you had to have if you didn't have enough Shell 2-star petrol tokens to get the set of 3 matching glasses. The intrusion of 2 dozen air fresheners into this universe was not explained.
She told us with refreshing honesty that these items were the leftovers from previous fayres and they had been in a cupboard for years, and that she'd be surprised if we sold any, make up a price, get whatever money you can.
So she got us a trestle table and a pitch and that was it. We set up as best we could, dreading everything, but then bundles of people came over (attracted by my winning smile and sales patter) and we were rushed off our little feet, even for the plug-in air fresheners, although we kept calling them air conditioners. There were a couple of wrong-change incidents, lots of customers enquired what you had to do for the game, and quite a few little girls kept coming back like some kind of glove junkie to the point where we actually had to say have you had enough madam.
At one point I heard that Santa was giving out Lego, so off I ran. You have to understand that Jof personally bought about 50 presents, wrapped them, put them in large red sacks called Santa presents and basically all Santa had to do was ask your name and whether you'd done a Xmas list and he'd earned £2 for giving out one of my mother's presents. I worked out about Santa being fictional when I was about 5 and did the same to all the gods a couple of years later.
But I smiled and liked it and got a Nerf Gun which shoots really far! Back at the stall, we realised that we only had 1 scarf and 6 air conditioners left which looked a little sad on the empty trestle table so we packed up and gave it all back to LennysMum and we'd made £20.55 which is really impressive given that we were selling them for 30p a go. She was most surprised.
Back at home, I was made to stand over the other side of the road for a lesson in closing your curtains before getting undressed. This is something I have real difficulty with and in the past he has pretended that several girls gather outside every afternoon to see me, but this time he did the 3 dances.

#1 Dance. Curtains open, light off. I couldn't see anything.
#2 Dance. Curtains open, light on. He did 10 seconds of that special dance that the 6 guys dressed as Tarzan do for the drunken screaming women, compete with crotch-grab and butt-wiggle. Several drivers waiting for the traffic lights stalled their cars.
#3 Dance. Curtains closed, light on. I couldn't see anything. I have learned my lesson.
Then he revealed a consignment of World War 1 French and German shell casings just delivered from Belgium (an arms importer as well now) and we got them out and I loved the howitzer and the 21cm Morser. Careful, we might start a war, Nuremburg trials here we come.
When Jof got home she'd bought a new Slow Cooker. It's just one of those things, you never realise you're in dire need of an obscure kitchen utensil until your mother buys one.