Scrambled Eggs

Me n Jess had a chill once Tom had left for school this morning (he was full of good cheer, a loud  “LOVE YOU DAD!” as he strolled off across the lawn).

As the gate bell rang (Katie came to fetch her – we share a lift, I do one week in three) I looked at her shirt. It’s Civvies Day and she’s wearing a tank top vest that looks like she and Sambucca the labrador have eaten three breakfasts on it and she’s done an art project in it.

Please change your top my love.

No Dad, I have to wear white.

Well that’s hardly white, Love. CHANGE please.

Grumble mumble.

Otherwise they’ll think I’m a bad Dad (why the f#! do I care about that? I don’t) That’s not why I’m getting her to change. Well, then it’s because I don’t want to give them the chance to think I’m not managing (why the f#! do I care about that? I don’t). I don’t want them to criticise her or embarrass her. Is that it?

All of that was in my head, when I looked again she had already changed into a purple top. BYE DAD! LOVE YOU!!

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