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Description
As a child, things like dares are normal. The sort of dares like, go pick up that snail or roll in the mud. As you get older they become things like, drink that whole can of beer in one chug or kiss the fat girl over there. When you start doing drunk dares, reason flies out of the window, your imagination runs wild and you start doing absolutely crazy things like jumping into a freezing river in the middle of winter with only your boxers on. Or perhaps jumping off the balcony on the third floor to land on a scrappy mattress you and your mates dragged up from the dumpster; that sort of thing really. And then, when you become really old, you stop doing these crazy things altogether until some small child ropes you into playing dares with them and then you can relive your childhood craziness.

Despite having been a small child at some point in my life, I detested children. I mean, just look at them. Snotty little brats who dribble and snivel everywhere, they whine like hell and if they don't get what they want they throw a massive tantrum. I always thought myself as a fairly patient person but put me in a room with children and I will be running and screaming within ten seconds. They are such annoying things. Yet, even with such hatred for children, what was I doing sitting in my sister's house looking after her little kids? How did I even end up here? As I tried to recall what had landed me here, vague memories started to float to the top of my mind; memories of my sister calling up, begging that I would look after them for the evening because the babysitter was in hospital or something like that appeared. Then the memories of her threatening to tell our parents about the Lucy incident if I didn't agree surfaced. That's why I was sitting here. Damn.

I sighed and looked at my nephew and niece on the floor, throwing bits of Lego at each other, shrieking about how the other had broken the castle they were building. Said castle was now a tattered pile of bricks that were being used as projectiles for the onslaught. I sighed again and tried to ignore the high pitched yells and concentrate on the most boring soap opera I had ever seen as it was the only thing on the TV at the moment. A girl in some completely overdone dress staggered across the screen. How she could move in that ridiculous garment was beyond me and how the man acting opposite her could find her attractive was even more beyond comprehension. So I started to flick through the channels again in the vain hope of finding something more worth watching or at least less sappy.

It then occurred to me that the background screams had disappeared. On the floor was one child, my niece, but the nephew was no-where to be seen. Oh bloody hell, where could he have gone now?
'Matthew! Matthew, where are you?' I slouched off the sofa in quest of finding the lost child. I knew what would happen to me if my sister found her precious darlings in any state less than perfect and I was determined not to reach that outcome.
'Uncle,' came the high pitched voice of my niece, Caroline, 'Matty's gone to the poopoo.' Oh, well, that explained it. Caroline took a couple of steps towards me and tugged on my sleeve. 'Uncle, I need to go poopoo too.'
'Got it, let's go then.' And so I carried Caroline upstairs to the bathroom. She jumped out of my arms and ran in saying 'I'm a big girl; I can use the poopoo by myself.' So I leant against the wall and waited for her to reappear to carry her back downstairs.

When I got back down, Matthew was sitting, quietly building another castle and crushing the little Lego figurines with a toy dragon.
'Uncle, I want to play a game. This is boring.' What an assertive little brat he was, so much for being 'quiet'. 'I want to play dares and you're going first.' Before I had any chance to protest, Caroline jumped in too with
'Yeah! Uncle, play dares with us!' I gave in, not wanting the incoming tantrum to appear. 'Mama says you like to drink, so you can drink a whole bucket of lemonade!' I'm not sure what your mother was doing, telling you things like that, but you've certainly interpreted that in a funny way. What human can drink a whole bucket of something? Especially lemonade, I hate that stuff; too fizzy.
'Do it, do it!' It's not like I had much choice if I wanted to come out of the evening intact so while Matthew went to fetch a bucket, Caroline fetched the lemonade.

'Matthew, is this bucket clean?' I was considerably concerned for my health when I saw the state the bucket was in. There was soil and bits of dead leaf stuck to the bottom and there was something moving. Grimacing, I stuck my hand in and pulled out the wriggling object, which turned out to be a small, black and yellow caterpillar. At my touch, it curled itself up into a ball and rolled onto my palm. 'Hey Caroline, you want a caterpillar?' The child eagerly nodded so I rolled the caterpillar onto the merciless hands of a six year old and started to wash the bucket out. I took as long as possible in the hope that if I took long enough my sister would come and relieve me from this torture, but no such miracle prevailed and I was left with a spotlessly clean bucket and two children eager to see me down a bucket of lemonade.
Well, I did it, much to my disappointment and spent the rest of the evening feeling rather queasy. My sister and her husband finally came back and I ran to the door to let them in.

'So, how was your evening? Are the children fine?' Before I could make any such answer to these questions my body finally gave up and I threw up over my sister's gorgeous evening gown. I'm screwed.

Description
As a child, things like dares are normal. The sort of dares like, go pick up that snail or roll in the mud. As you get older they become things like, drink that whole can of beer in one chug or kiss the fat girl over there. When you start doing drunk dares, reason flies out of the window, your imagination runs wild and you start doing absolutely crazy things like jumping into a freezing river in the middle of winter with only your boxers on. Or perhaps jumping off the balcony on the third floor to land on a scrappy mattress you and your mates dragged up from the dumpster; that sort of thing really. And then, when you become really old, you stop doing these crazy things altogether until some small child ropes you into playing dares with them and then you can relive your childhood craziness.

Despite having been a small child at some point in my life, I detested children. I mean, just look at them. Snotty little brats who dribble and snivel everywhere, they whine like hell and if they don't get what they want they throw a massive tantrum. I always thought myself as a fairly patient person but put me in a room with children and I will be running and screaming within ten seconds. They are such annoying things. Yet, even with such hatred for children, what was I doing sitting in my sister's house looking after her little kids? How did I even end up here? As I tried to recall what had landed me here, vague memories started to float to the top of my mind; memories of my sister calling up, begging that I would look after them for the evening because the babysitter was in hospital or something like that appeared. Then the memories of her threatening to tell our parents about the Lucy incident if I didn't agree surfaced. That's why I was sitting here. Damn.

I sighed and looked at my nephew and niece on the floor, throwing bits of Lego at each other, shrieking about how the other had broken the castle they were building. Said castle was now a tattered pile of bricks that were being used as projectiles for the onslaught. I sighed again and tried to ignore the high pitched yells and concentrate on the most boring soap opera I had ever seen as it was the only thing on the TV at the moment. A girl in some completely overdone dress staggered across the screen. How she could move in that ridiculous garment was beyond me and how the man acting opposite her could find her attractive was even more beyond comprehension. So I started to flick through the channels again in the vain hope of finding something more worth watching or at least less sappy.

It then occurred to me that the background screams had disappeared. On the floor was one child, my niece, but the nephew was no-where to be seen. Oh bloody hell, where could he have gone now?
'Matthew! Matthew, where are you?' I slouched off the sofa in quest of finding the lost child. I knew what would happen to me if my sister found her precious darlings in any state less than perfect and I was determined not to reach that outcome.
'Uncle,' came the high pitched voice of my niece, Caroline, 'Matty's gone to the poopoo.' Oh, well, that explained it. Caroline took a couple of steps towards me and tugged on my sleeve. 'Uncle, I need to go poopoo too.'
'Got it, let's go then.' And so I carried Caroline upstairs to the bathroom. She jumped out of my arms and ran in saying 'I'm a big girl; I can use the poopoo by myself.' So I leant against the wall and waited for her to reappear to carry her back downstairs.

When I got back down, Matthew was sitting, quietly building another castle and crushing the little Lego figurines with a toy dragon.
'Uncle, I want to play a game. This is boring.' What an assertive little brat he was, so much for being 'quiet'. 'I want to play dares and you're going first.' Before I had any chance to protest, Caroline jumped in too with
'Yeah! Uncle, play dares with us!' I gave in, not wanting the incoming tantrum to appear. 'Mama says you like to drink, so you can drink a whole bucket of lemonade!' I'm not sure what your mother was doing, telling you things like that, but you've certainly interpreted that in a funny way. What human can drink a whole bucket of something? Especially lemonade, I hate that stuff; too fizzy.
'Do it, do it!' It's not like I had much choice if I wanted to come out of the evening intact so while Matthew went to fetch a bucket, Caroline fetched the lemonade.

'Matthew, is this bucket clean?' I was considerably concerned for my health when I saw the state the bucket was in. There was soil and bits of dead leaf stuck to the bottom and there was something moving. Grimacing, I stuck my hand in and pulled out the wriggling object, which turned out to be a small, black and yellow caterpillar. At my touch, it curled itself up into a ball and rolled onto my palm. 'Hey Caroline, you want a caterpillar?' The child eagerly nodded so I rolled the caterpillar onto the merciless hands of a six year old and started to wash the bucket out. I took as long as possible in the hope that if I took long enough my sister would come and relieve me from this torture, but no such miracle prevailed and I was left with a spotlessly clean bucket and two children eager to see me down a bucket of lemonade.
Well, I did it, much to my disappointment and spent the rest of the evening feeling rather queasy. My sister and her husband finally came back and I ran to the door to let them in.

'So, how was your evening? Are the children fine?' Before I could make any such answer to these questions my body finally gave up and I threw up over my sister's gorgeous evening gown. I'm screwed.