Dear God Most Holy, Highest of High etc,
I know I may have frequently declared that you do not exist; decried your more fervent followers as brain washed fools unable to think for themselves, and even your more moderate believers as gullible, whilst invariably getting 'atheist' on Buzzfeed quizzes about religion, but frankly, since the GP won't give me any more Valium, I have nowhere else to turn, oh Lord. I do know most of the words to 'Oh Jesus I Have Promised' though, and I sometimes went to Sunday School, when they had good biscuits.
Dear kind lovely God, even though I don't believe in you, please give me the strength not to sell my children to the gypsies or to sell myself to the gypsies to get away from them. I'm sure you will understand my plight, as you thyself got so fed up with Thine Only Son thy had him bumped off; luckily for thee what with the omnipotence and everything thy were able to raise him from the dead when you felt a bit bad about being such a sod, and even pretend it was all done for the good of humanity. Lacking the whole 'rejuvenating corpses' ability as I do though, perhaps you can help instead.
It has been a long Easter holidays m'lord, some of the responsibility for which you have to take, on account of the whole son-killing/ public holiday scenario. I have tried to be patient and kind, I really really fucking have, but oh dear god, those fucking children! I have presented japes and frolics and fun; there have been boats and castles; picnics and chips. I have, though I so say so myself, been pretty fucking amazing.
Throughout the joy and delights I have offered up to them, there has been a general sullenness; a discontented undertow of grumblings about wanting to go to soft play (the work of Beelzebub, I imagine) or the cinema, or, (oh the shame) 'Nandos' (perhaps merely the creation of a lesser demon).
Today, oh happy happy joy joy, The Beast returned to his common people's local school. Saff however had an extra days holiday from her vastly expensive posh school that I pretend I send her to because the exam results are so much better, and not because I couldn't bear the thought of her befriending people whose greatest ambition in life was to become a hairdresser (oh and while we're on the subject of school fees, if you could see thine way clear to smiting any elderly relatives who've mentioned me in their wills, I would be most awfully grateful).
I thought everything would get better once normal service had resumed, and so flushed with joy, I had invited some friends for lunch, a meal Saff insisted on joining us for, sitting glowering, removing our ability to talk about willies and worse, eating all the bloody baked Camembert! After the friends had left, the Terror was in need of a walk, and I suggested how helpful it would be to Mummy if she could take him for a quick walk and collect the Beast from school at the same time.
She huffed and she puffed and she eventually got her fucking boots on and trudged off, at 2.55pm, to make a journey that should take no more than 10 minutes. When she finally returned with a hysterical Beast, it transpired she had not arrived till 3.25pm, by which time he had wandered to the end of the road and had decided Mummy was dead and he would be sent to an orphanage. And of course all the other parents saw this and did some supreme judging and probably thought I was just drunk again, which is really unfair because for once I wasn't.
The reason Saff gave for the delay was apparently that the Terror stopped for a crap. Add to this a lengthy argument with the Beast about why he needs a bath ('Because you have rolled in mud. Even the fucking dog doesn't do that'); why Saff must do her flute practise ('Because you need to improve so I can boast about you, everyone needs a dream'); why either of them ever need to eat any vegetables ('FINE! Get scurvy. See if I fucking care') and why they must not let the Terror kill cats ('FFS, people might see'), in addition to a lecture about the fact I said the 'S' word ('Yes I fucking well said shit darling, and I don't fucking care, so there'), I am just a tiny bit broken now and in need of some divine intervention.
So if there's anything you can do oh Lord, I would appreciate it, and please don't forget about the smiting of rich and aged relatives.
Yours truly,
Casssandra
PS- Amen and all that
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