Regrets? I’ve had a few . . .

One just this morning.
What should a great Dad do when his 5yr-old child comes running into the bedroom early in the morning grinning from ear to ear and squeaking breathlessly “Dad, Dad, come and look what I found! I found something new!”
Where, TomTom?, I grunted. And why is your head wet?
“In the bathroom, come look! It’s a fountain, Dad!”

I should have jumped up and gone and danced under the fountain with him.
Instead I said It’s the bidet, Tom, don’t make a mess.
“No, Dad, it’s not a bee day, it’s a fountain!” said TomTom.

He was right, of course.
Later, when I went through, the bathroom was flooded, the magazines next to the loo were soaked, and the washing in the wicker basket was soggy.
But he was ecstatic, and I shoulda got soaked with him. And I only thought of it once he’d beetled off to school.

Dammit.