❝Muuuum…❞
Let me tell you, a four-vowel “Mum” is never good news. “Wassup kiddo?”
❝I forgot it was book week. I, uh, need a costume for tomorrow.❞
“Dammit. I swore I would never do this, but...” I stopped to consider if this was really the right time. “Go get the big sledge hammer from the garage, and meet me in the basement.”
I took the sledge and swung it at the cement floor. Nothing much happened. I swung again and a crack formed. “Waitaminnit, this is your emergency, your job.”. I handed the hammer to the kid.
Twenty minutes of hammering and we cleared away concrete rubble to find a wooden crate. I levered the lid up with the blade of the shovel.
The kid was impressed. ❝Woowwwww. Is that a real Jet Pack?! And that suit! Red leather, so retro. You think it’ll fit me?”❞
“Mark seventeen gravitic repulsor. You’re big enough to fit the suit now. You can borrow it *IF* you are extremely careful and do not under any circumstances reveal where you got it. And you’re not getting the power pack until you’re older.”
❝You’re the *best* mums; this’ll be the greatest book week EVER❞
I wish I’d put more plaster and less cement in the fake concrete, but the look on kiddo’s face made the book week costume I’d ordered for this inevitability worth every cent.