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May 24, 2016 / hbrowne4

Kaffee Klatch

Chinese Soldier

“Stephens just had six espressos so he’s a little bit excited” said his adoring mother with a sickly smile on her face as the light of her life crashed around the coffee shop, upsetting cups and tables left and right in his coffee fuelled rampage.

“Couldn’t you control the brat?” Demanded the Irish times reader as he frantically brushed best Kenyan roast off his old school tie.

“That’s easy for you to say” retorted the yummy mummy. “Stephen’s a gifted child, his therapist has told me, on numerous occasions that he should be allowed to freely express himself. It would be very bad for him to be restricted in any way”

“Very bad for him” harrumphed the IT man. “Give me the little git for a couple of hours and you’d see a big change in him” he continued sotto voce.

In the midst of this altercation there was an almighty crash, followed by frenzied screams “Mummy, mummy, it burns. It burns”

Yum mum jumped up and rushed, not to the aid of her scalded son but to the counter “Where’s the manager?” she demanded “I need your insurance details immediately. My son has been badly injured through your negligence and I demand satisfaction”

“What do you mean?” Asked the bewildered manager “What did I do?” He had been looking out the window at a young Chinese man parading down Grafton Street with a Red Chinese flag over his shoulder and and a coke in hand, he hadn’t noticed Stephen’s depredations.

“You know very well what you did. You served six espressos to an infant and then allowed him to career at will through a forest of scalding coffee cups without supervision, that’s what you did”

“Sorry madam, but isn’t he your child?, don’t you have some responsibility for his coffee consumption? I can’t accept responsibility for what is clearly your lack of care. Now take your whining kid and fuck off out of my Cafe. I’ll see you in court”

As they argued Stephen pulled at his mother’s skirt and said “Look mummy, it burns, it burns” as he lit another match from the box of matches he had filched from the Irish Times readers jacket which was slung over the back of his chair.

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