I confess I don’t really see the attraction of “sleepovers”.
I’m not talking about myself sleeping somewhere else [which does happen occasionally, depending on alcohol levels or getting lucky]. I’m talking about the attraction to a seven year old of staying with her grandparents.
Maybe I don’t understand it as it is something I never experienced myself. My grandparents were all gone by the time I was born, bar one [who used to terrify the shite out of me] who lived nearly two hundred miles away. So my experiences with grandparents is a big fat zilch.
Puppychild arrived on our doorstep last night looking for a sleepover. I’m not sure if her parents just chucked her out or what but we decided to let her stay anyway.
So the cupboards are now bare and the refrigerator is empty. She must have eaten about five times her own bodyweight which reminds me of myself all right. You can’t fatten a thoroughbred.
Last night she hauled herself off to bed, and a little while later I went up to tuck her in. After a little chat about nothing in particular she wrapped her arms around my neck.
“You’re the best Grandad in the world” she said.
But I already knew that.