Stropper's back garden. Sunday. Warm and sunny. 2.45pm. Worth noting that one must pass by our home in order to get to the village church. Sunday's afternoon service begins at 3.00pm.
The discovery following a throw-away comment from me that the family cat will not, now, or at anytime in the future be providing us with fluffy, cuddly, cute baby cats.
Initial reaction could not fairly be described as a strop as such. Stropper threw a devastatingly accusative glance in my direction and added a quivery bottom lip and tear-filled eyes for effect. Attempts to console by stating that there is no reversing the situation with a simplified birds & bees story didn't go down well and only gave rise to strop intensification. The situation reached it peak just as droves of church goers strolled past our home on their way to the afternoon service. The peace and tranquility of the day was shattered by The Stropper cries,
"But I want to have babies. I want a baby!" *hic*
Attempts to explain to every passing stranger that my four year old Stropper was not crying over the fact that she wasn't pregnant were not well received. Folk were distracted by Stroppers background insistence that she wanted to have a baby. I gave up in the end, removed Stropper from eyes and ears of the God Fearing and retreated indoors.
Dismay Factor Percentage:
High. Up in the 90s I'd say. Being on the receiving end of a disapproving or worse still disappointed eyeball from the devout and righteous is somewhat disconcerting.