March 11: Mystery Shoppers

Sister number one unimpressed with attempts to get fat. Brother-in-law says 'that's but a small snack'. Sister number two says, 'Onken is no good. Where is the cake?'
She drives over, brings four huge chocolate muffins with chunky bits in, takes out a plate and beckons me to sit at the table, lays it in front of me, says: 'You want to get fat. You need to do it in style. Now eat.'

****
Later, after I have eaten, we storm Mothercare and, brave in numbers, manage to terrify the shop assistant.
How does this buggy fold?
How does it clip?
How much is a rain cover?
Which is best, a cocoon for a new born or a sleeping-bag thing?
Is there a bag to go over the handlebars?
What can you fit in it?
What if it gets a flat tyre?
Which babyseat is best?
Will it fit in my car?
How much is a bar to transfer it onto the buggy frame?
How long will it last?
How do the straps extend?
Phew,’ the poor woman said, sat on the floor surrounded by car-seats, rubbing her eyes in weariness after our hour-long tirade. ‘You’re testing me today. You’re not mystery shoppers, are you?
‘No,’ I smiled. ‘Just clueless.’