The years passed. Mr and Mrs Meek secretly hoped that their daughter was just “going through a phase”. But this “phase” was not one she ever grew out of. In fact, Myrtle’s behaviour became worse and worse* over the years.
The nasty noughts turned into the outrageous ones. Then followed the terrible twos, and the tumultuous threes. After the fearsome fours and the frightful fives came the sickening sixes and the spiteful sevens. Then there were the egregious eights and the noisy nines.
Oh my word, they were noisy. Now nine, Myrtle would wake her parents up every morning by howling…
I wanna teddy bear!”
I wanna pony!”
I wanna suitcase full of money!”
The girl would make such a din that the little Meek family house would actually shake.
RATTLE!
Books would fly off the shelves.
BONK!
Pictures would fall off the walls.
DUNK! SHATTER!
Plaster would shower down from the ceiling.
DUNK!
Poor Mr and Mrs Meek would be hurled out of bed.
DOOF! DOOF!
They would scramble to their feet, and immediately run around doing their daughter’s bidding. They gave Myrtle everything. But everything was never, ever enough.
Oh no.
The girl wanted
one more
“FING”.
