Like most infant schools, Flea’s school is ramping up for the annual nativity production. Each morning the kids get changed into their costumes and head off for rehearsals in the main hall.
To make life easier, the school has asked that infant children wear their PE jogging suits and t-shirts rather than regular uniform. Of course, Flea finds this a dizzyingly exciting prospect and this morning announced she would dress herself in her PE kit.
As I dropped her at the classroom door this morning, I thought she’d made rather a good job of it. The t-shirt wasn’t tucked in, but apart from that she looked pretty respectable.
Or so I thought.
I’ve been in Birmingham today doing some training, so my sister-in-law offered to collect Flea from school and give her dinner and a bath. My SIL lives near the motorway exit, so I could pick up Flea on my way home. When I arrived, Flea was in the bath with her cousin, so I started gathering up her clothes. Hmm. Pink knickers. “I think these belong to one of yours,” I told my sister-in-law.
My sister-in-law shook her head. “No, Flea was wearing them.”
Weird. I’m sure Flea doesn’t have any pink knickers, and certainly not from Asda. “Flea where did these knickers come from?”
Flea looked up: “Mrs Hardman gave them to me,” she said, proudly.
And it was then the horrible truth dawned: Flea went to school commando.
I explained to my sister-in-law about Flea dressing herself. “And you didn’t think to CHECK??” she shrieked in disbelief.
Er, no. I didn’t know you had to check. But apparently, that’s something experienced parents know. Always check they’ve put knickers on. There needs to be a manual with this kind of information in it.
So, hot on the heels of the monkey porn incident, my child arrived at school sans knickers and presumably proceeded to flash the class her bare little butt, until a teacher noticed and gave her a spare pair of pants.
Seriously, somewhere in the staffroom there's a list – and my name's got to be at the top of it.
