The Maoam Files

One of things that becomes clear several days after looking after a niece for a day – aside from the fact that even looking at a Lego Marvel videogame makes you cry – is that even though they are gone their legacy lives on.

I can only assume it’s a trait carried by all the females on Carole’s side of the family. I’ve never met anyone before who has done this. But Carole can, and does, do similar things.

It needs nipping in the bud, though, with the niece before it gets out of hand and she finds herself in a situation where she’s unwittingly driving a friend or partner mad.

I’m talking about little bits of things.

When she was at ours, Moo helped herself to the halloween sweets – depriving 2018’s trick-or-treaters of access to 2017’s left over Maoam bars. As well as not being able to say Maoam properly – an argument we had, repeatedly, throughout the day – she opened each bar by tearing off the tiniest of tiny bits of wrapper first.

These pieces still haunt our house.

One is in the bathroom. Or it was. I guarantee it won’t be there now. It will have moved somewhere else where it will appear, briefly, to witnesses before fading away again.

Carole does the same with small pieces of card, sticky dots, beads, pom poms, earplugs. Everything. That’s what I’m saying. Every thing.

Who can forget the joy of being woken up by a stabbing pain in your foot in the middle of the night only to find that the source of your discomfort is a small piece of unfeasibly sharp cardboard. Cardboard that has no place in the bed, nor did it start its journey anywhere near the bedroom.

Earplugs, incidentally, shit you up because for all intents and purposea the look and feel like fingertips.

Anyway, I can’t take it anymore. Tomorrow the Dyson and me declare war on the Maoam.

If we can find them…