Walking a mile in someone else's shoes

Young Tom's been a bit crook.  Runny nose, tired and off his tucker.  It's that last symptom that really tells us he's not well.

Very excited was I when he came to me this morning requested not one but two vegemite sandwiches ("no no no no no, Tommeee want a two webgeemoit andwiffers").  I made them for him and went about my morning task of getting in touch with my feminine side - laundry, dishes, etc.

The first indication that something was not quite right was the silence, punctuated only by Tom screeching to his sister "'ook Charliee, 'ooooook den vair!"

The second indication that something was not quite right was the dark marks across the floor.

The third indication that something was not quite right was his socks thrown asunder.

The fourth indication that something was not quite right was the sight of him smiling hugely and with a face absent of the usual tell-tale signs that he had been eating what he had requested - or stolen from the fridge when I wasn't looking.

The fourth indication was him moving silently across the timber floor - instead of footsteps there was the subtle thsmusssshhhh of buttered bread being smeared between the floor boards, ahead of the dark trail of vegemite that he has left through three rooms.

Soon afterward, his sister asked for not one but two jam sandwiches.  I gave her nothing.