Sensitive Sunday

Me: It’s very quiet in here this morning.

Nell: Keep your voice down, please. We are having a Sensitive Sunday.

Me: Is Dave doing some kind of interpretive dance?

Nell: No. He is Getting In Touch With His Inner Self.

Me: He might just be asleep.

Nell: Whatever works for him.

Me: Can I ask why you’re doing this?

Nell: Poppy may be slightly out of control so we’re trying to create an atmosphere of calm and sensitivity around her to encourage her to relax.

Me: Well, there’s not a great deal of sensitivity going on in the kitchen.

Nell: I know. We’re hoping she’ll join us in a minute for some Quiet Time.

Me: I wouldn’t hold your breath. She was making bread when I saw her and there was a lot of vigorous kneading.

Nell: Maybe Sunday Songs will help. The Welsh Corgi Choir are singing lullabies.

Me: In the morning?

Nell: And the llamas are going to roll down the field.

Me: Why?

Nell: Why not?

Me: Watching a llama roll down a field isn’t exactly the most interesting thing I can think of.

Nell: It’s not meant to be.

Me: Unless they bump into each other which would be hilarious.

Nell: They are going to roll slowly and sensitively.

Me: This has disaster written all over it. I can’t wait.

Nell: Why don’t you just go back upstairs and carry on with your writing.

Me: Can’t I do it down here?

Nell: Only if you do it quietly and stop asking questions.

Me: I hope Sensitive Sunday doesn’t mean we’re not having a roast.

Nell: Of course we are having a roast. You can’t be Sensitive on an empty stomach.

Me: Poppy might be too relaxed to cook.

Nell: And pugs might fly.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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