Aftermath

The house has been trashed. It is a little house but everything is filled with remnants of yesterday's celebration. The quiet has returned but the mess just doesn't seem to clean itself.

I have decided that the true terrorists in the world are under five years old. No explosive devices are needed when young children are around and excited. Even very good children. Even lovable children.Imagine what a little troupe of them could do if we just let them go! True damage could be done to all major systems. The world would fall on it's knees. Let twenty of them go in the Stock Exchange. Send them to the Parliament. Send them to all the world's hotspots. Give them what they need to accomplish the task but give them a lick of sugar first!

Watch out!!! The l'il ones are coming. 'orrible bands of tinies. Fueled with sweets. Cover your ears. Hide the electrical plugs. Hide all the sharp things. But they have ways. They can turn anything into a weapon. Simple rolls of gift wrap or Chesterfield pillows can be transformed into artillery.

Don't send in the girls. They are the most terrifying and disarming. Sweet smiles turn into ear splitting shreeks. Tiny dance kicks evolve into girl Ninja kicks. A blowing kiss turns into a slap.
Wee ringlets flailing with evil efforts to maim and destroy.

The aftermath of the battlefield is shocking. No one location is safe. Torn puppies, broken heirlooms, dismantled filing cabinets, deathly sticky tissues, terrifying bathroom splootches are all that remains.