Chapter Thirty-Three - "I'm as manly as you are, let's compare our stubble."

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Chapter Thirty-Three – “I’m as manly as you are, let’s compare our stubble.”

“Let me see, I have my snuggie, some wine and my slippers. I think I’m ready to party like a fucking rock star!” Miranda cheered with a smug expression on her face, “Life as me is good, I’m telling you.”

“Oh yeah, because I can really see people like Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix lounging around in snuggies, drinking wine and in their slippers.” Tyson snorted, attempting to cut a rubbery carrot that had been boiled too much.

I grinned through a mouth-full of mushy potato, trying to contain my disgust and not show any signs that the potato made me feel like I was going to be sick any second. Rhys shot me a sympathetic look when Miranda and Tyson weren’t looking, and glanced down at his plate of slop disdainfully.

“Jimi loved his slippers! And Kurt loved his snuggie! They both liked the wine, what rock star doesn’t? It’s rock and roll, Tyson!” Miranda corrected Tyson, raising a dainty eyebrow as she spoke and shovelled food in her mouth. I guess they’re immune to the horribleness that is their cooking. Or maybe they’re pretending to like it?

“So, Rhys, do you have any plans?” Tyson asked with subdued glee in his voice. Oh man, looks like he was plotting against us again.

Rhys’s eyes flickered towards me from across the table, and then he looked Tyson straight in the eyes, “Maybe, I might have something in the works.” Translation: I’m going out for some decent food later.

“Well, cancel them. You’re busy, bucket list number sixty one, you’re going babysitting.” Tyson laughed, his face crinkled in mirth as he thought about Rhys babysitting. Now, that was bound to be interesting, Rhys and some kids. If it was going to be a replay of the baby Harry Potter fiasco, we were doomed.

“Annie, I swear to God, what next, huh? Lion taming?” Rhys gaped, his expression one of disgust as he thought about children. I thought hard, I was sure I hadn’t put that on the list, my number sixty-one was something else. I opened my mouth to speak, when someone dealt a swift kick to my shin. Rhys shot me a meaningful look and mouthed sorry. Little wanker.

And then I got it, it was on Rhys’s list but he didn’t want to lose any of his ‘manliness’ by admitting he wanted to do it. Geez, what next?

“Lion taming has in fact appeared on someone’s list. Now, go you stupid things, it’s time for you to go. Head down to the Brown’s, you have the immense pleasure of looking after their little ones.” Tyson pondered, and then tapped his watch knowingly.

Rhys bolted out of his seat, making it scrape against the wooden floor and practically sprinted to the door. Either he really wanted to start babysitting, or the food was complete shite. Probably the latter now that I think about it. I got up slowly, and strolled towards the door, where Rhys was hopping up and down on the balls of his feet impatiently.

“Hurry up!” He whined as I pulled my coat from the hook by the door and slowly put it on. I stuck my tongue out at him, and went to grab my scarf. “Annie, it’s fucking August, you don’t need a scarf.” Rhys sighed, and I could hear him roll his eyes, as if wondering what he had done to end up with an idiot like me.

I still wrapped my scarf around my neck, and pulled my hat over my hair, “Annie, you’re mental. A scarf, hat and jacket in August?” Rhys laughed, yanking on my scarf end and gesturing at my attire. He stood in there in jeans and a shirt, and I grimaced as I thought about what we were going to face.

The Brown’s had three little boys and they were little bastards, if I say so myself. I had babysat them before, and had come home covered in whipped cream on my upper body and my hair with chocolate sauce laced in it. The next morning, I had a menagerie of blue and black bruises. Let’s just say they a right handful. And Rhys was going in with skin showing. Oh man, he’s going to smell like whatever food they can get their hands on for around a month. I know I did.

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