Coco Drops

It’s clearly the week for standing on things in the kitchen.

Bra buckles the other day – the mental, if not physical, wound is still there and today it was the unmistakable sound of Coco Pops underfoot.

Carole left the house this morning with a sorrowful bellow up the stairs. There had been, she shouted, an accident in the kitchen. I was lying in bed, but my adrenaline kicked in at this. Was she alright? How badly was she hurt? Should I run down stairs in just my pants and administer aid. She continued to shout that she had spilled Coco Pops everywhere because there was apparently a slit in the bag. Probably that crocodile that’s always inexplicably after the chocolate-coated puffed rice treats.

Anyway, my adrenaline left after that. As accidents go, it certainly wasn’t worthy of the first five minutes of Casualty. Coco Pops everywhere, check. I would deal with it when I got up.

I got up about an hour after Carole left for work. At a time when it’s respectable to hoover, because we are kind in this house and think about our neighbours. Although, by that same token we could hoover at midnight-1am most nights as the little shits are usually up and about, running around. We have the same size houses, but they seem to have a lot more stairs and floor space.

Anyway, I digress.

I went into the kitchen and yes, Coco Pops had been spilled. They were everywhere. It was like someone had taken a lot of leopards and just shaken all the spots off of them. Or, to put it another way, like someone had tipped Coco Pops over the floor.

It was here that I learnt a valuable life lesson.

I’ve always considered broken glass to be a tricky one to clean up, because you have to be certain you’ve got every last bit otherwise you’ll cut your feet to ribbons. And you know there’s always a piece you’ll miss…

Coco Pops are like that, but way worse.

Sure, they don’t slice into your foot skin and cause you to hop around in agony. But they are an absolute bastard when it comes to not getting them all.

For approximately six hours after the initial hoovering, I have stood on Coco Pops at random intervals.

I hoovered, thought I’d got them all, went over to the worktop to make bread and it was like I was providing the sound effect of someone walking up a gravel path for a radio drama.

I go over to the cooker later in the afternoon to light the oven for the aforementioned bread, more crispy explosions underfoot.

I bet I could go into the kitchen even now, after there has been an evening of both of us in and out of there, plus Peppa mooching around, and still stand on a stray drop from this morning.

They’ll haunt us for ever.