it's not fair

Mol has a friend round for a sleepover. Before teknoligee crossed the atlantic in 1998, it was called 'staying the night'. The shiny new term stipulates that at some period between the giggles of 2:53am and the grumps of 5:73am the two girls should, you know, sleep, instead of just, you know, stay, so it's a comer-in phrase I don't get so ferocious at.

Mol and friend were all cool at first, cool, slumped, and unimpressed on the sofa. During the evening they ran the levels from lip-curl to zombie/vampire-chase, embracing made-up-dance-to-show, decorate-the-tree, eat-lots-of-chocolate, and snort-cola-out-the-nose-during-You've-Been-Framed.

They are now upstairs, watching Mamma Mia. Again. The ups and downs of the nearly teens. I must grasp these moments, throttle the treasure right out of them. From March she'll be old enough to sign up for suicide bomber duty.