No Octopus for Mrs. Bennet

Friday, March 5 ‘10

Mrs. Bennet's octopus had never arrived. She had thought about asking Mr. Google to hunt one down, preferably with a facility to programme it ready to master maths homework, listen to young readers, make a nutritious meal which catered for all seven individuals, and wipe waddling bottoms as they carried wee-filled potties around with pride, pants around their ankles. But Mrs. Bennet knew it wishful thinking. She had spiders in abundance. But they weren’t quite what she needed. Somehow their eight legs caused more work for her to clean up. Their webs were spun in corners as fast as the little Miss Bennets spun their clothes webs, catching unsuspecting doll’s house accessories, discarded tissues, bracelets and coins, which of course all ended up in the washing machine’s belly. It had got so bad, the other day Mrs. Bennet found it had eaten a packet of Ibuprofen. Every tablet had turned a soggy mush and disintegrated into the clothes. She knew how it felt. Not one for resorting to pain relief, even Mrs. Bennet had found a new friend in Mr Ibuprofen lately due to jaw ache. Apparently stress was the cause. The remedy: to rest. Five children didn’t feature in any of the definitions she looked up. “Peace, ease, or refreshment resulting from sleep or the cessation of an activity; quiet relaxation and relief or freedom from disquiet or disturbance.” As Mr. Bennet was right now flying in the Milan direction, any chance of Mrs. Bennet enjoying the meaning of any one of these words was with her husband, 35,000 feet in the air. The washing machine obviously high on its dose of pain killers was taking off in the kitchen and jumping violently. Mrs. Bennet wished she too take off, but her wings didn’t work. One day, she would turn into superwoman. But for now, her task was to come up with a creative plan on getting her children to pick up after themselves, put their shoes away, hang their coats up and attempt to hand over their dirty underwear at least instead of stashing it away like a treasure chest. It was a never ending job trying to match lost socks with its abandoned mate and retrieve the dirties before their soiled the only clean things left in her children’s’ bedrooms. If she didn’t devise a plan soon, her sanity would be lying in a heap next to the laundry mountain. At least when she climbed a hill in the surrounding countryside, there was a promised view to enjoy. The only view she got from the laundry version were a few Peppa Pig scenes on tiny toddler pants and occasionally Miss Rosie Bennet’s beloved rabbit spinning round and round as he underwent his regular wash. In order for this to happen, he had to be stolen from the cot, the washed and dried before his owner awoke. But Rosie was no fool. She knew that he smelt differently and had been somewhere other than her comforting arms.
No the Octopus hadn’t arrived and was unlikely to do so. What was likely was that Mr. Bennet would visit Duty Free to pass some time at the airport. Perhaps he would feel sorry for his wife and come up with an alternative. A bottle of perfume might not fix the problem, but it would at least help Mrs. Bennet smell a little sweeter than the dirty washing.