As is the case with loose dogs shuttled our heads to the door, to the kitchen clock, to the door, to the kitchen clock, back, forth, back and forth. We could not believe it. Sunday, 9 o’clock, and the Wombi stand in the flesh at the threshold of our kitchen. As would be, instead of the Easter Bunny in the Middle showed up in April, Santa Claus. Of all alone, without a giant spider or spot in the face – had applied to the Wombi have the power to put your feet a time on the ground, which can be described as “Early”.

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“do You Need anything?”, I asked with concern. “Uh,” made the Wombi, “says you don’t actually, at this time of the first ‘Good Morning, dear child’?” Olaf looked at me with a withering gaze, as if I had a totgesagtes plantlets, which had just put in the greatest effort, his head from the earth, with the chlorine-doused. “We are pleased that you already are,” piped he, and pushed her like a good waiter the chair under the butt. With a “Boom!” flopped the Wombi on the seat cushion. “There’s Toast, too?” she asked, yawning. “Of course,” said Olaf, and made just a compile. But “not the pre-packaged ham,” wanted to the Wombi, “fresh”. “Of course,” said Olaf. “There’s a Café Latte?”, the Wombi asked. “Starbucks, we have none,” I answered. Olaf went in between. “Of course,” he said again, and began to warm in a large pot, a small puddle of milk. “Do you know this device?”, I asked him and pointed to the microwave. He didn’t know it, because he tapped dark on the head and said, “Yes, that’s right, you’re right. Since I can warm up a Cup of milk much faster than on the stove in a pasta pot.” Instead, he stirred it with the plastic transparent fork-part of a lettuce Cutlery in the milk. Click-clack made the plastic fork, if you hit the noodle pot.

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“Toast is ready”, cheered Olaf, and forgot all the enthusiasm that he had prepared a real dining alone, the milk in the pasta pot. The bubbling already for the longest time and began to attach to the bottom of the pot and burning. “I’m going to be bad,” said Wombi, and pressed theatrically like Marie Antoinette a napkin in front of the nose. “I’m sorry”, apologized to the Olaf, “I could make you some tea.” The Wombi shook with closed eyes to the head. Oh, it was a bad Moment you had to handle. A Latte to Toast. And for that, she had risen so early.

“What’s the schedule for today?”, she asked, as the last bite of Toast had disappeared in her mouth. “Why do you ask?” I said. There’s something wrong here. Almost-fifteen-year-old not to participate in the Sunday program of the family. To ride with the parents and the little brother in a Park, to go there for a walk, it was so exciting, that you could also die the same. But the Wombi had to die this Sunday not in the mood and came up with.

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In the car, on the way to the adventure Park, let you even the children’s songs CD of the little brother go through, We are constantly “wanted to listen to the two fat dancing bears”. After the 13. Time “thickness dancing bears” we arrived at the Park. Everywhere were the signs that dogs must be on a leash. “Don’t you want to leash the dog?”, I asked. The Wombi did, as if she had heard nothing. A Park Ranger snapped at ME a few steps later, why the dog run around. The Wombi swerved from the series and left us with the guards alone. I took her tiny dog on the Arm and waited until she had the goodness to join with the leash back to us. She had taken the shortest leash that we have. With her head held high, the dog ran next to her, always careful to not withdraw and to be strangled. “Stupid Park Ranger”, scolded the Wombi.

Because to me the dog leidtat, I proposed pretty soon, our picnic blanket to lay under a towering Sycamore. As we sat there with our bananas in the sun, high I rolled my pants legs to my white winter, the sun skin. “Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”, the Wombi uttered a sharp cry. I winced, and searched me for bugs. “Please, when you have shaved you legs?”, the Wombi asked me and moved a Meter away from me. I couldn’t remember it. “It was Winter,” I said, “no one has seen my legs.” The Wombi was the “total arg” and proudly presented their smooth arms. “Depilation belongs to the body hygiene,” she explained. Olaf nodded, and the face contorted at the sight of my prickly legs. “You’re one to talk, Yes,” said I, “you look like a Yeti is at least a Ten-day beard.” The Olaf denied that and insisted on “no more than eight days”. “Your leg hairs are at least seven weeks,” he claimed. Now the time had come to hit jump and Olaf the banana peel to the ears.

Next Sunday we will conduct ourselves so quietly and in front of nine sneaking out of the house, to the Wombi can sleep laaaaaaaang. You need the. We have now recognized.


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