Don’t Spin The Gravy Bot Tot

It was like a scene from a Werther’s Original Commercial. Silver haired Grandpa kneeling on the floor, arms flung wide, waiting with eager anticipation as his young grandson tottered towards him.

Grandpa knew his back would kill him the next day, but couldn’t resist lifting the adorable little chap into the air and spinning him round and round like his grandpa had done for him when he was a boy.

By spin number two, Grandpa was beginning to feel giddy. Then Grandpa felt an odd heat travel down his body. That’s when Grandpa shouted for help. Hearing Grandpa’s frenzied pleas, Grandma and Accountant rushed into the living room to see what was wrong.

“Help me, it’s everywhere!” cried a distraught Grandpa, holding Chickie as far away as his arms would allow. A bemused Chickie watched on as Grandma, trained for every crisis, disappeared to fetch towels. Accountant removed his dripping child from his father, whisking him upstairs for a hosing down.

Grandpa took in the devastation. The white rug now seemed an unfortunate colour choice. The circular brown splats an unwanted pattern and a permanent reminder of their fun. The carpet underneath had also been hit as had Grandpa’s shirt, trousers and shoes.

Grandpa sighed and went to clean up.