Hands up who has a pathalogical fear of stickers?
I have had to give my home over to the dreaded items. I find them on the walls, on furniture, on shoes, stuck to mirrors, kitchen cupboards, taps, windows, my mobile phone.
I take handfuls of them out of the washing machine after they’ve been through a cycle clinging to various clothes and I’ve even once found one on the cat’s back (it was a picture of Clifford the Big Red Dog, which is rather ironic).
It’s my own fault, of course. I bought them – and continue to buy them – by the truck load.
My children love stickers. Pirate stickers, Dr Who stickers, Dora stickers, animals, planets, gold stars, googly eyes. To be fair, they don’t actually care what the picture is as long as it sticks to something.
I guess I keep buying them in the vague hope that one day they will actually use them ‘properly’ and stick them to card or in an album or on their Good Boy/Girl sticker chart. Tsk.
But no, they continue to whip the lot off in one go and stick them to whatever inanimate object looms infront of them – and it’s often me.
“You’ve been such a good girl mummy. You deserve a sticker” (on my forehead? Really? And you just know that I’ll end up forgetting it’s there and trotting off to Tesco to do the shopping with it still firmly stuck there for all to see and laugh at and think to themselves ‘aah, shame’).
They clearly think our house needs brightening up. Home on the bland side? Nothing a couple of Mr Men stickers can’t sort out though eh?
Kitchen kettle too silver? A giant Dora the Explorer will sort that out. Forgotten to wear a necklace? A ‘Good Homework’ sticker slap bang in the middle of your breast plate is just the ticket.
I know, I know, I’ve got to put a stop to this nonsense and try to find an easy and painfree way of getting them off the television screen.