When I was getting P dressed for school on Wednesday, he told me a story. When he finished, all I could think was: ‘aw, my son, the spinner of stories! He is going to be a great story teller, a fantastic writer. J K Rowling, watch out!!” Before I tell you all the story, a bit of background about P – he hates bathing. Baths, showers, quick ones in a bucket, well he hates the lot. Everytime it is a merry dance to lead him to the tub and make him clean his grubby self.

He kept this up in Madras heat and grime too – that should tell you what a determined monkey he is! More than bathing, he hates washing his face. Every time he shouts ‘I’m finished’, I’ll always find his body sopping wet but there will be nary a drop on his mug. Asking him why will get comments like he dry cleaned his face or some such thing. Hard to believe that when he was a newborn, he *loved* getting his face washed. The outrageous squawk he’d let out to find himself facing yet another bath would be silenced when my gran washed his face.

Now, for his story:

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who took baths every day. He loved washing his face. His face was very, very clean.
Then, one day, he thought to himself that it is too clean and he wouldn’t wash it. But he forgot.
Then one day, when his face got too, too clean, his eyes fell off. Then his nose came off. Then his ears. Then his mouth.
His mum walked around and found them. Then she took out some glue and stuck them all back on his face.
The End.

Do you think he needs therapy?

• Post Christmas Slump
• Animal Behavior
• Question #145890
• My champ!
• Unbelievable!
• First look at Baby
• Indian mythologies and today’s kids
• A grown-up milestone
• Thanksgiving
• The great wonder that is my son