Favourite Daughter's very-late-night pad down the the stairs for two second cuddle before she is happy again. Back to bed.
I fret about this. It's unusual for her. I think of a few reasons. None of which are anything to do with anyone but me and Tired Mam. This isn't that sort of place.
Upon realising the time, I retire to the bathroom.
I thought I had seen the last of it.
Not a pint glass. Oh no. In this escalating scenario, that would appear normal.
A washed-out Hellman's mayonnaise jar filled to the brim with a dark-brown sludge. Sealed with the bright-blue Hellman's lid.
Right there. On the window-sill. Right next to the toilet.
I try not to think too hard about it. I know I will.