Sunday, May 14, 2017. Daily Brit Wit.
Arranged; organized; fixed-up.
‘The young lad hovers, his neck craned and weight tipped onto his toes and balls of his feet, an attempt to see what his dad is doing. He holds his breath without notice. Suddenly, his balance lurches and hastily, he grapples for the back of the chair he’s peeking over to stop falling.
Perturbed, and hiding his mischievous smile behind irritation, his father pins him with stern green-gray eyes.
‘Hi,’ the boy giggles nervously. ‘How’s the trip coming? Do you have it sorted yet?’ He tugs on brown locks and shifts his weight to the heels.
‘Did your mum send you to spy on me?’ His dad cracks, eyes bright.
‘No!’ The boy cries in a mixture of outrage and laughter.
‘Well,’ the father chuckles, ‘if I could have five uninterrupted minutes, this’ll be sorted.’
‘And when are we leaving for Spain?’
His dad snorts and gently shoves the boy away before tugging him back into his lap. ‘Why don’t you officially help, huh?'”