The Gum Zombie is a creative child.
He and his Elder brother managed to get the football stuck on a flat portion of our roof and had gone through all possible removal methods short of, say, asking the resident grown-up, aka their mother, for help.
The Elder threw his hands up in the air and resigned himself to waiting until Choreboy came home without a word to me. But did the Gum Zombie do that, or in the alternative, decide to mention to his mother that maybe, perhaps, her assistance might be required?
He instead formed a lockpick out of a twig and was trying to unlock the shed to retrieve a ladder.
Twigs aren't very effective as lockpicks.
They also tend to break off in the lock.
So now I have Our Future Burglar in his room until I start breathing normally again (because hello, ladder???); I also have a completely jammed shed door.
Days like this remind me of just when my hair started its rapid descent into "obviously grey"... a time which perfectly aligns with the Gum Zombie's birth.
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