Saturday morning, and upon arriving downstairs I was transported back to my school days when my little girl announced I had homework. My little girl said she needed help with her maths homework, and we were doing our six, seven and eight times table. The last time I did these tables the Internet was a pipe dream, the CD was something from outer space and although computers were in schools, you shared them between most of the class. We broke out the pencil and I sweated and blew many brain cells trying to figure out what the question meant. My little girl announced how easy it was, and how next week she would let me know if she needed more help. I will definitely be busy that day, because I fear we will be calculating using Pi or trigonometry. When I was at school we were given calculators, and I still managed to do badly in my maths GCSE, so the thought of acing a maths homework paper, with nothing more than a princess pencil and chewed rubber filled me with fear.
Captain Chaos arrived and asked where his breakfast was, so I gently broke it to him that the head butler was doing maths homework, so I was sorry for being slow. I rushed around to get him his breakfast to be told he was having it in bed if I needed him. Okay your highness, I will let you know when the morning papers arrive! My little girl came in, so we asked her to put the breakfast bowls by the sink for her pocket money, as some of the bowls were hers as well. The answer shocked me which went something like “No thanks, I will skip pocket money this week!” Imagine going to work and announcing you did not feel like doing any work today, so don’t worry about paying me as I am off back to bed. I was in so much shock my mouth scraped the floor while she went back to the world of television.
My wife came down having been informed by Captain Chaos that he was having breakfast in bed, and that Mummy had biscuit breath. Me personally, I would have taken that as a compliment, but my wife was not happy, so I trod very carefully until bedtime.
As I woke, it was announced it was Fathers Day. My little girl gave me a card and said present would follow later. This was immediately followed by a coffee and toast order being taken and me thinking I had died and gone to heaven! I plumped up my pillow and before I knew it toast arrived on a tray, followed by my wife mouthing behind my little girl not to eat the toast as it had fallen on the floor and my little girl had just picked it up and dusted it off! Okay, thank you family but just to clarify, this is the same floor we had cat poo trodden through, as well as slugs? Now for Father’s Day we were serving iffy toast and diarrhoea as a result of it!
I gave up on life and went into the bathroom for a shower. As I got downstairs my little girl announced she was enjoying Father’s Day due to the extra benefits like treats for breakfast. Oh that’s good! I am still holding my iffy toast with little extras too. In fact, give it a few hours and you can watch the germs march round my toast. Captain Chaos popped down and gave me my Father’s Day gift and asked if I could pop the television on with the film from last night, and where was his breakfast, was it invisible?! No son, the head servant thought it was the only day off he was having this year so he apologises for getting it wrong. My wife took pity and said she was making the breakfast, and did I enjoy the toast? Sorry my little restaurant critic, funny enough no, the cat poo, slugs and dirt may have put me off a little, or maybe, just maybe the thought of diarrhoea slightly marred my breakfast experience.
My Father’s Day was made with the statement “It was the thought that counts “. Yes people, it was the thought that counts, but could someone please tell my stomach as it is making the same noise as a washing machine whose bearings have just exploded in a ball of fire.
I left the house with a coffee and thought my day was going down the toilet, when my son arrived at church and gave me a big hug followed by my little girl and I felt very loved. Okay I may have diarrhoea tonight, and I’m married to a wife with biscuit breath, but at least I was loved!
Night, night people, see you next week bright eyed and bushy tailed.