Tale 17 - The Dancing Queen

 My wife is quite upset that she is very rarely mentioned in any of my tales.

The Sassy Princess and The Prince of Tales are also keen to hear a story about their mum.

So today, my tale is all about my wife Leanne. To protect the identity of my wife, Leanne, we will address her in the tale as the Dancing Queen (But it is my wife, Leanne)

Roughly 10 years ago, The Dancing Queen, The Sassy Princess (who would have been around 1 year old) and I went for a walk down the canal where we lived. It was a lovely sunny day, so we took the pram and thought we might stop off at the pub for lunch.

About half way round, the Dancing Queen looked very pale and was making some strange dance moves.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s my stomach. It’s gurgling. I think it’s the diet I am on!”

The Dancing Queen had recently been getting lots of diet products through the post. One of the side effects of said products (I was now informed) was a higher need to visit the toilet. The Dancing Queen was getting paler and paler and doing more complex dance steps.

“I’m going to have to go to the toilet.” She gasped.

At this stage I turned into, before my time, full house husband mode.

“Did you not go before we set off?”

This was greeted with an angry but equally predictable response;

“ I did not want to go then!”

My next response was going to be ‘You should have forced yourself’ which was always the response I was given as a child. However, it seemed my life would be in danger if I said this out loud. So to save myself, I said it under my breath.

Going to the toilet was not going to be easy. We were on a canal! I looked around and saw a bush.

“You could have a wee behind that bush.”

What followed I could not repeat in any tale. Let’s just say there was a lot of expletives and the message that a poo was needed, not a wee you imbecile. 

Suddenly, The Dancing Queen jumped over a wall into a small wood. 

I stood next to The Sassy Princess and the pram. I wanted to check the Dancing Queen was ok, but when I weighed up watching a baby or watching an angry woman defecate in the woods the choice was clear.

After two or three minutes, The Dancing Queen returned. Her face was more relaxed and her demeanour suggested she was in a happier place.

I had many questions.

“Did you go?” I asked.

I knew the answer to the question as it was obvious, but it felt like the most polite question to ask.

“Oh yes, thank goodness” she responded.

“ I hope no animal rolls around in the leaves down there.” I laughed.

The Dancing Queen looked confused. “What leaves?”

“The leaves you used to wipe your bum?” I responded

“I did not use leaves. I used my knickers and buried them in the woods. Every woman has buried their knickers at some time!”

This filled me with shock and lots of questions.

1 Surely knickers are too small to do the job!

2 How do you make a hole in the woods to bury the knickers with no tools.

3 There needs to be a Mori Poll re how many ladies have buried their knickers. Every woman has done this? Surely that is a sweeping statement, but if true how come I’ve only found out in my forties!

4 That means I am on a walk with a wife without knickers. Sounds erotic, but current circumstances mean it definitely is not!

What was for sure was the pub lunch was off. We stopped at the pub and I had a shandy whilst the Dancing Queen cleaned herself up. We then went the quickest route home!

The Sassy Princess and The Prince of Tales were in shocked laughter. The Sassy Princess spoke first;

“ I have never buried my knickers in the woods.” she said. “I would have used leaves!”

My faith in the female world was being restored.

The Prince of Tales was thinking. After a minute or so he shared his pearls of wisdom.

“Dad, was Niamh only one year old ?” he asked.

“ Yes” I said.

“So still in nappies?” he enquired.

“Yes” I said.

“So you would have had a bag on the pram with spare nappies?” he said.

“Of course!”

“And wet wipes?” he concluded.

The Prince of Tales sat back in his child seat like a lawyer who had just nailed a case, his final statement hammering home the fact that his mother and father are idiots!

In years to come, I can imagine the David Attenborough of the time finding hundreds of pairs of knickers buried underground, wondering what the special custom the ladies of the 20th and 21st Century had!

Have you buried your knickers or underpants? I don’t expect many responses but surely the majority don’t when caught short!