How many fucking books are there? I had to read "That's not my truck" last week. "That's not my truck. It's sides are to ridgey". WTF! £5.99 for 5 pictures of things with fun fur or something on them? They're taking the piss! "That's not my hamster". Seriously! Where's the plot?!
That's not my poo. It's sides are too glittery. That's not my poo. It's top is too floaty. That's my poo. It's tail end is so sweetcorny!
That's not my mummy. Her hair is too shiny. That's not my mummy. Her tummy is too small. That's not my mummy. Her eyes are too bright. That's my mummy. She's rocking in the corner, muttering to herself.
That's not my toddler, it is sitting nicely. That's not my toddler, it is sleeping past 6am. That's not my toddler, it is clean. That's not my toddler, it is quiet. That's my toddler, she is perfect in every way screaming whilst running around waving a stick at terrified passers by.
They are all written by Fiona Watts. Who has a sensible brown bob and does not come across as someone who deserves harm. Till you discover what she does. Then you have to refrain from punching her. Hard.