At the fairground, my son had to throw a dart to burst one of the balloons on the wall. If he could burst one he got a prize.
First dart, and he pops a big balloon on the top row. A champion the stall owner cried!
I felt very proud. And smug. My child is clearly gifted … at darts (?)
Afterwards, in the distance I heard the same cry following a loud pop: “a champion!” And I realised all the kids were champions. Of course they are.
And I noted my pride and wondered what the fuck was that for? Some kind of weird transference is my guess.
I need this to be exorcised as soon as possible. A new project.
(That’s me hot and bothered (and gone slightly crazy) at the fair)