Apparently I committed a heinous crime today. I must have spent the GDP of a small country printing the (hopefully ) final copy of my new Hoodies novel for people to read. And to start the ball rolling I asked my daughter to try it out since the novel is for, and about teenagers.
'You know I'm a girl.' As if I was unfamiliar with a law forbidding girls to read anything but girly love comics.
'Yes, my little projectile vomiter. I'm fully aware of your gender. I was present at your birth and I seem to recall dealing with several hundred toxic diapers in the interim.
That's when I got the look. You know the one; an expression of pure malevolence that only a teenage girl can produce: withering trees and turn boiling coffee into ice. The monitor of my computer flickered alarmingly and I think the escape key on my keyboard began to smoulder. They were probably signs which I unwisely chose to ignore.
I had an idea.
'I've got an idea.' I told her.
'The book has girls in it. So why don't you just read it and tell me where I've gone wrong.'
'But what if it's rubbish?' she enquired hopefully. So I told her that if it was rubbish she could tell me but with a little constructive criticism.
I should have noticed her hungrily eying the large felt pen she reseves for painting less than constructive comments on last week's androgynous poster idol, just before she casts him into the wilderness in favour of the new hunk of the week.
I definitely did not like the anti-look she gave me on departing for the mayhem that is her bedroom. I'll probably have her approximately ten billion Facebook friends giggling at me for weeks.
Perhaps if I'd re-written it in the approximation of English she spends her every waking minute talking to her fellow coven members via Blackberry, I might have met with a more favourable reply.
So I'll just have to wait.