Musings from my daughter.

After deciding to take a day off today before commencing the final re-write of Hoodies 2. I was going to take my daughter shopping so she could add to her already fifty or so phone covers. This was one to be genuine Mink, apparently.

   'Are you ready?' I called upstairs.

   'A mumbled grunt from upstairs signified 'yes, father dear.'

   'Did you make your bed?'

   'Wot?'

   'Well I was just wondering if you'd...'

   'You hate me. You hate me and wish I was dead!'
   'No I was just enquiring if you'd ...'
   'You'd rather have a Ferrari than me. You wish I'd never been born!' Actually I prefer Porsches but the distinction would have been lost on her.

   'Mum! Dad hates me and wishes I was dead. And he hates you, too, cos' he told me.'

    A heavy shifting sound from the living room preceded the Sun scurrying for cover behind a cloud and the cat inserting itself under the sofa, mewling in terror.

   'What's going on? My wife emerged as my daughter, a sometimes pretty seventeen year old, lumbered down the stairs scowling like Golem evicted from the underworld during a particularly good movie. It was a relief to see that she'd coloured her hair again. Green is just so last week.

   I decided to let it go in case I added yet another word to the already lengthy list of obscenities in my house, like: hullo or good morning, darling (to either of them), and so opted for the easy way out.
  
    'I'm going upstairs to write.' 

    'Yes, go on,' my beloved intoned while my spawn gloated from the staircase, 'Go up and spend some more time with that computer. You love it more than me, anyway.'

    Can you imagine the ensuing carnage if I ever said something really bad.