Jigsaw 2

jigsawFor the time we’ve been plodding away at this jigsaw we’ve snaffled off my mum, it has become a source of great entertainment for Peppa. There is, apparently, something fascinating about settling down in the box full of pieces and then biting anyone who tries to get anything from the box. She has also, in a separate incident, chosen to claw the bottom of the box to such an extent that were we to pass this on via a charity shop after completion (depending on the number of missing pieces) we would have to probably add a disclaimer that it has not previously been owned by a tiger.

Being the cunning and resourceful people we are, we thought we would thwart Peppa’s destructive overtones by covering up the jigsaw when we’re not doing it. It has, for the past week or so, sat untouched by human hands on the table. With a towel on top of it. And then various things piled on top of the towel.

We once employed a similar technique with a board game which went on for so long that we had to cover up all the little goblins with a sheet so that it would remain safe while we slept and went about our normal daily business.

It worked then.

Now, not so much.

Apparently, the towel we have chosen is like the catnip of drying equipment. It has become the main focus of all of Peppa’s fun and frolics. Anything she has previously done from floor level is mainly being done from the sanctity of the towel. And anything she has never previously done like, say, roll around on a towel chasing her own tail like some kind of crazy idiot is also being done.

Basically, by adding the towel as a layer of protection to the jigsaw what we have done is caused more trouble. Especially because I think, secretly, she knows what’s underneath as every now and again you’ll catch her just casually digging her paws into the towel and dragging it across the table, complete with jigsaw pieces underneath.

And it’s not a fun jigsaw to assemble. It’s high on the beige. There is nothing more heart-breaking than glancing over at the table and noticing that a large portion of your hard work is now lying on the floor. In pieces, naturally.

We’ve made a concerted effort to finish it tonight. Just so we could report back to mum that her estimate of ninety-nine pieces versus the thousand that should be in the box was way out. But did I mention it has a lot of beige in it. And the thing about beige is that after a while it all starts to look the same. Because it is all the same. And your eyes just wash out to it. So we’ve had to stop.

We’re about thirty or forty pieces from freedom. Or, if we’re feeling particular masochistic, maybe another jigsaw.

If I come downstairs in the morning and it’s all over the floor I think I might cry.

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