My eldest son, Finn, is a biter. It doesn't matter what it is, he will have a gnaw at it. Fingernails, Pens, Books and many, many, many articles of clothing have all met their untimely end at the hands (?) of his molars. The last item on this list , clothing, gives Mrs T the greatest cause for concern. What starts the day as a fresh out of the cellophane packaging, school uniform attire, V-neck sweater, more often than not, ends up resembling something that Albert Steptoe would have cheerfully paraded up and down Oil Drum Lane in. She has tried everything to stop the "Attack of the Incisors", but, to no avail. I'm sure that Freud (Sigmund, not shameless "Minced Morsels" advocate, Clement) would blame it on my unhealthy affection for Reggie Perrin's alter ego, Donald Potts. It's obviously just a nervous thing, that we guess (hope, Pray....) will pass in time.
The latest attempt to "Tame the beast" took the form of the removal of a certain number of Finn's privileges, namely the writing of his daily Football Blog. So, with the Sweater stock reduced to one singular non-savaged, item, the warning was put in to place on Friday morning. When Mrs T collected Finn from school that afternoon, he ran out into the freezing temperatures proclaiming "I didn't bite it Mum". Great news, tainted, only, by one tiny fact - he was not, nor had he been, wearing the bloody jumper at all.
The Devil, as they say, is in the detail.
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