Servant for a Day

I’m not sure how I found myself at the local church raffle, but there I was with my strip of tickets.

I’ve always had a slight reluctance to win raffles – like it’s a form of public shaming – so it was with some disappointment that I heard one of my numbers called out.

Heading up to the stage to collect my prize, I was hoping for something edible at the very least, but instead I was presented with a child.

Someone had put their kid forward as a “Servant for a Day”, which was a complicated and troubling thought.

Anyway, I’d won the kid fair and square, so that was their problem.

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When we arrived back at my house, me and my child servant, a problem presented itself: I had finished all the cleaning and the gardening; and I most certainly didn’t want a child to cook for me.

Not so very long ago, they’d have been up the chimney.

There was nothing really to do, so we just sat around, doomscrolling on our phones.

At some point I fetched us both drinks, realising halfway through that I was doing my servant’s job for them.

Thankfully “a day” only turned out only to be a few hours, when the parents of my servant wanted them back for their tea.

Winning the child turned out to be nothing more than a waste of time for both of us.

I thought of asking the church for my pound back, or seeing about a trade with whoever won the Terry’s Chocolate Orange I’d had my eyes on.

vss #52

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