Stare Into Space

I thought I had more time

Posted on | January 22, 2008 | 5 Comments

Yesterday, my daughter took a cook book from the shelf in the kitchen and sat down in the sitting room to have a look. I went with her.

“What’s this?” she enquired.

“It’s a recipe book that tells you how to cook things,” I said.

“Why?” she asked. She’s still in the why-stage. Inquisitive little thing. Too damn inquisitive as I soon found out.

“Well, if you don’t know how to cook something, you can look in here.”

“Did you get it when I was a baby?”

“Before that, I think,” I said.

“Did you get it when I was in mammy’s belly?”

“Maybe even before that”

“Did you help put me in mammy’s belly?”

Oh shit. Where did that come from? “Errrrm. In a manner of speaking,” I told her.

“How did I get in mammy’s belly, dad?”

Arrrggghhh! Shit, shit, shit. Emergency, emergency. She’s three, for Christ’s sake. I thought I had another few years at least. What can you do?

“Let’s go get a chocolate biscuit,” I said. I’m not sure how much time I’ve bought.

Comments

5 Responses to “I thought I had more time”

  1. Yosser Hughes
    January 22nd, 2008 @ 11:38

    Chocolate biscuits are only a stopgap, but I reckon you’ll get a few years stopgapping out of them. Good luck.

  2. Istvanski
    January 22nd, 2008 @ 12:23

    Yep, don’t fret. Choccy biccies for another 6 months and then you should steer her towards children’s TV programs some more, and that should buy you another two years if you’re lucky.
    After that, you’re on your own.

  3. Trousers
    January 22nd, 2008 @ 15:45

    Gahhh! Dammit. They grow up so fast, the little shits.

  4. clarissa
    January 22nd, 2008 @ 20:45

    Tell her mummy ate her.

  5. Trousers
    January 23rd, 2008 @ 9:41

    Do you think that’d work, Clarissa? It seems a bit frightening to me. I want to get her off the subject, not terrify her. Or, maybe that’s a good idea. Toughen her up. Maybe, I should sneak into her room at night wearing a scary clown-mask. ;-)

Gerry Hayes

Gerry Hayes

I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and debase my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.

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