I waited for my son to burst into the house holding out his hand, some wiggly, creepy crawly laying there, proudly showing off his treasure. I waited year after year. I had heard the stories. I steeled myself. I checked short’s pockets for dirt and rocks. I shook out his shoes, just to make sure there was nothing hidden inside their deep recesses. Six years have passed, with not a snake, grub or spider in sight.
And then today, as I stood blow drying my hair, innocently unaware that my daughter had popped into my bathroom, I felt a tap on my leg. I turned around to see a little outstretched hand, the tiniest, sweetest sight to any mother, and in it a roly-poly, wiggling with all it’s might. And on my daughter’s face not just a smile but a beam. Without a trace of guile, she stood there showing me her prize. I hid my own surprise, though it had finally come after all these years, in the form on a little girl in pink. And I will now be inspecting all her small pockets for visitors.