"Mama's Magic Nipples"

Yesterday Egg brought one of his classmates home to play after school - a lovely little French boy with impeccable manners.

I was understandably apprehensive given the general chaos of our home and worried that Egg might attempt his 'party trick' of smothering the poor boy to death by way of over affectionate hugs - or that Dumpie might shoot him in the eye with one of his long range toy rifles.

My morning admonitions must have worked though, as Egg was on good form and fairly chilled for the duration.  Even Dumpie toned things down somewhat and agreed not to hijack Egg's little friend as he is often wont to do.

However, when tea time came round I was presented with a challenge. How to feed this merry band of pranksters when our little guest was used to gourmet French fare (as evidenced by the remains of a lovely stuffed pepper dish I spotted on the table when picking Egg up from his house a few weeks ago).  Clearly mini pizza's and fish sticks weren't going to cut it.  I was going to have to channel my inner Oliver and stay clear of any Kerry Katona Iceland-related tat.

Auntie Ba cleverly suggested I go Mexican and serve taco's.  She even agreed to whip them up given my utter ineptitude for meat handling (that's 17 years of vegetarianism for you...I wouldn't know my way round mince if you paid me).

At the table a short while later, as the meal wound down, the subject turned to Dumpie (as it often does) as he was caught sneaking biscuits, slyly claiming that his tummy was actually a giant cookie.  (He's probably not far off in terms of composition.)

"No Dumpie you have a magic tummy remember?" I said, reaching over and lovingly stroking his tiny but protuberant tummy.  (It's true, since he was born we've teasingly referred to it as such as it's so 'Winnie-the-Pooh'-esque...tiny but proudly high and round, garnering not a few indulgent tummy rubs.)

Egg piped up.  "What do I have Mama?"

"A magic forehead of course!" I replied.  (Egg has a lovely high rounded forehead, which though permanently eclipsed by a thick dirty blond fringe, has none the less been the recipient of a multitude of kisses over the years as countless pretend wishes have been made...)

The sweet little French boy then piped up that he reckoned I had magic legs.

"Well you gave birth to three boys and you can still walk, so you must have magic legs".  Quite.

Dumpie put his fork down, sat up straight and proudly declared, "No...my Mama has MAGIC NIPPLES!"

I nearly choked on the carrot I was eating.  Then I had an uncontrollable urge to giggle.  And then I caught sight of the uncomfortable look on the little French boys face.

Dumpie didn't let it go.

"Mama has magic nipples that dance like this" (at this point he sat up even straighter and wiggled his little chest like a belly dancer)

"...and they can even squirt milk!" he announced proudly, standing up on his chair, placing two trigger fingers on his chest and pretending to shoot an imaginary army with a round of live ammunition.

So there you have it.  I officially rock.  I have magic nipples.  You heard it here first.