"Painting"

Emma who looks after you at nursery handed me this pile of dog turd on Thursday when I picked you up. You were pissing about in the sand or something. I asked you why you are so inept at art but you couldn't or wouldn't give me an honest answer. All you said was: "Painting. Painting."

"If you want to call it that." I said, with a roll of my eyes as I punched your work into your Spiderman backpack.

"Noah, why do you hate us?" Asked Mummy when I showed her what you did.

We took this picture of it before spitting all over it and putting it in the black bin (we wanted to ensure that it went into landfill; it didn't even deserve going into the the blue, reclycling bins.)