I’ve never stepped foot in a dojo nor “rolled” in a Gi. I have however changed Fletchers pooey nappy. And let me tell you right away that i’ve never sweated so much, never attempted that many guillotines and rear naked chokes in my life or been arm barred so easily by a 9-month-old animal!
It goes like this…
The waft of putrid, hot, steamy, Dad i’ve crapped my pants smell hits you like the hammer of Thor and you know its GO TIME!
In the Red corner, weighing in at 10.3 kilos and 9 months poo-fight experience. Fllleettcccheerrr “The Animal” Hannay.
and his opponent…
Weighting in at 79 kilos with 9 months (imanewdadi’vegotthiscovered) experience Callum “producer of pedigree rangas” Hannay!!
Now its important to be prepared people and because Fletch now just rolls/jumps/rocket blasts straight off the change table we have the battle ground layed out on the…the…. well the ground…. Wet wipes at hand. New Nappy to my right. Distraction toy to my left. Ding Ding Fight!
The importance of a swift and decisive removal of pants is paramount. Distraction Toy deployed and the legs are kicking, arms flying and torso rolling side to side. Its basically like watching a prehistoric Crocodile wrestle its prey, twisting and turning and eventually sinking to the depths with a good kill. Be warned. If its a no.3 sh#t’s flying everywhere!
Half a box of wet wipes gets destroyed….
Fletch finds an escape route. He flips over and heads straight for the chest of drawers, Not to get new undies for the freshly pampered buttocks, but to check if he can climb it faster than yesterday. I drag him back into the Octagon of Broken Dreams. He squeels with delight. This is fun for him! I plant my leg over his chest in the “50Cal Arm bar of Doom!” He bangs his fists on the leg and grabs the hair on my legs. OOOOOWWWWW. Surely thats a foul! Not in a Death Match!
Things are even after 4 and its time for the championship round…. The new nappy proves to be harder to apply than I imagined. Distraction toy has been replaced by the used nappy….Noooooooo don’t throw it at Dad! He narrowly misses with that grenade. He bites my toe with all 8 teeth! A Tyrannosaurus Rex has nothing on Fletchmeister. He releases the bite just as i slide the nappy under with a cloud of talcum powder blurring my vision.
Side velcro straps snapped into place. I can hear the crown roar with approval! 50Cal 50Cal! I’m actually winning! Boom! I slip his pants and socks back on and Fletch rolls off disgruntled with the result.
I grab my wriggly FletchTrophy and head to the lounge to display the fine specimen that i’ve just conquered. Twinkie grabs him off of me and laughs.. What? i say puzzled.
The smell wafts back over me…. Well played Fletch… Well Played.
Fletch 1 – Cal 0
itwasloveatfirstfight 