I eyed him carefully; he eyed me back through ragged slits for eyes. My young assistant is fond of dressing up and playing the “Who am I?” game. This time he was wearing my Russian hat, a gift from a trip abroad and the cut off leg from some trackie bottoms. “I don’t know, some sort of Russian terrorist?”.
“No. Do you want a clue?” He picked up my packet of cigarettes, another gift from abroad.
*Clicky, Did you know, there were 20 cigarettes in that pack, compared to just 18 in a pack bought in the UK?*
“Sterling?”. It took me a couple of seconds to catch on…
*Aww Clicky… chosen for our friend Joe Public? He does like our posts…*
Kitten cocked his finger and thumb into a makeshift gun and took aim. “Boom!”. He flourished a pack of cards, apparently well hidden up his sleeve. “Want to play Blackjack?”.
I really should know better by now than to play games with boy that will not be beat…
*Thanks for the song, Clicky, there was quite a bit of ‘hit me’… /rolls eyes*