The Sticky Floor

Bloody hell it’s dark as arseholes in here! thought Mum as she strolled into the kitchen. By my age you’d think I’d have grown out of my fear of the dark, she thought. But no, get in, get out and run up the stairs, that’s how it’s done and no one and nothing can get you. As she placed her foot quickly she was suddenly aware of a cold, creeping feeling running through her toes.

Oh dear god, what is that? She wondered in horror, as all the horror films she’d ever seen flashed past her eyes. That soggy bitch from The Ring? Tar monster from Scooby Doo? A big pool of bloody blood left by a massive ugly dude with a massive ugly knife? Put the light on or run? What should she do? Put the light on or run? The choices went back and fore in her mind like a flip flop being shaken by an over excited puppy.

Right she thought I’ll put the light on, deal with it like an adult should and then get my freezing bum back to bed. Standing up straight to strengthen her resolve she quickly spun around and promptly slipped, giving a shout of “shitsticks!” as she glided through the air and onto her arse landing with a splat. So now she not only had something all over her foot she was also stuck to the lino by the nether regions.

Attempting to heave herself up she felt a sharp tug as she removed several pubes from her lady garden. WHAT IN THE EVER LIVING FUCK WAS THAT?! she thought as it smarted. I haven’t felt that much pain since holiday preparations for Ibiza 2002. Not sure which hurt more – her pride or her fanjita she put a hand on the kitchen worktop like Bruce Willis in some action movie where you think he’s sure to die and your hand is momentarily poised in the air over your popcorn, you hold your breath until… SUDDENLY a dirty, bloody hand comes flying over the horizon and you ram your piggy fist back in the carton in celebration.

Taking in the situation for a moment she tried to clear her mind and think clearly despite the afflicted flap situation. She looked down at the floor to find a congealed brown mess. It better not be shit! was her first thought and then she realised it was unlikely to be sticky and besides, she couldn’t smell it. I’m going to have to get down there and sort this out she sighed. Why the bloody hell do these things always happen to me? My entire life is like some sick Jeremy Beadle carry on. Crouching down to look she was glad she had closed the blinds otherwise if the neighbours happened to look across she would look to all intents and purposes as though she was coupying down to piss on the kitchen floor. As you do.

In the half light she couldn’t really work it out and knew she would have to have to smell it. Swiping the kitchen roll from the side she hoped it would give her Plenty thickness between her fingertip and IT. Turning her face to the side she sent out a hand and swiped like a new Mum wiping a korma clad baby bum. It stuck. She yanked harder and punched herself in the face as it tore, leaving half the wipe there and half in her traiterous paw. This is really taking the piss now she fumed as she bent right down and bravely took a big sniff and to her surprise it wasn’t a vile dead body smell to hit her senses but a sweet, sickly one. Now where had she smelt that before? she pondered. Thinking back to the days activities in the back of her mind something niggled, something gloopy and messy. They’d had pancakes for tea, it couldn’t be sugar it wouldn’t make that much mess. Which meant it could only be one thing –  golden fucking syrup.

Those little shits! she thought.

Julie x (2)

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