Pants Party

Today I learnt that my infant nephew could climb higher in my esteem, considerably higher. He recently became  potty trained and, my sources tell me, since making the change to grown up pants he now refuses to wear trousers.

This is mind numbingly excellent in my opinion. The thought process makes my knees a little weak when I consider its brilliance -

"These are a whole new item around my bum. I really like them. To hell with covering them up. People need to see how brilliant I am to be wearing these. I am brilliant... in my pants."

I really thought this child couldn't please me any more with his renegade approach to life - and then he goes and throws this curve ball and I have to take a long hard look at my graph tracking how and when my opinion of him shifts.

I mean, I also learnt today that, despite being about 92% potty trained, he took a massive dump on his car mat. There are good arguments for whether this should be impressive or disgusting:

Disgusting - he was so engrossed in the TV/cars/lego he just decided to poop where he was.

Impressive - he was so engrossed in the TV/cars/lego he just decided to poop where he was.

Disgusting - he may well have ruined a pair of his brilliant tiny pants.

Impressive - he didn't play with the poop once he'd produced it.

Disgusting - the living room now smells a little funky and Rusky.

Impressive - he may well have been imitating the common Somerset road experience of muck spreading. Clever, clever boy.

Either way it's only 10 days until I see the little lad and we can really sort the world out. I have already been told in no uncertain terms that I am not allowed to hang out in my pants with him for the 10 days I'm back home. I'm mildly devastated but I think I'll find ways to get around the strictness of my sister's ruling. She can't be everywhere at once, and, if we can just show her how much fun it is to be in your pants she might give in and join the party.

This is pretty much the light at the end of my HR tunnel at the moment. I knew I wasn't built for an office when I had a proper job, however, at least then I had tasks which took a modicum of intelligence to accomplish. My temp positions are so far proving impossible to undertake without having to really moderate the level of eye rolling I'm prone to. Obviously, this is the point of a temp job - it's to be expected. What I wasn't expecting was how surprised people would be when I was capable of doing the "jobs" set out before me. So far I have been given a bottle of wine for putting 300 letters into envelopes and a £10 HMV voucher simply for turning up to work. I mean wow. If I continue in this vein I could be the Queen of the Temps before too long. In my pants.