Scrambled Eggs

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

Fellow Lift-Mom Katie was coming to fetch Jess – we share a lift, I do one week in three. As the gate bell rang I looked at Jess’ shirt. It’s Civvies Day and she’s wearing a tank top vest. It 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, my 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 scrambled egg brain. When I looked again she had already changed into a purple top and was on her way down the driveway.


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