Charity Shop
As has previously been mentioned, my Saturday morning is filled at an unreasonably early hour with the attendance of Favourite Daughter’s ballet class and the necessary trawl, at FD’s insistance, around town that takes place afterward.
Which includes the Charity Shop. And the Woman In The Charity Shop.
Each Saturday she looks at her watch. And thinks to herself ‘Oooh that bleary-eyed man with the really beautiful little girl (she’s not his in my opinion) will be in soon. It’s nearly quarter past twelve.’
She fusses with her hair a bit.
‘I’ve got this wonderful connection with that young lady,’ she thinks to herself. ‘Our little game when I pretend to get her name wrong every time really delights her. Every week. For the last six months. Oh she loves the game, and, by extension, me. And I’m sure her Dad feels it to be the highlight of his day. Although he could have a shave. And comb his hair. And do a little more than grunt at me. Anyway. They’ll be here in a minute. What shall I call her today? She’s so funny though. Pretends not to be interested in my joke. Silly girl. I’m so good with kids me.’
Anyway.
Favourite Daughter: Daddy! Charity Shop!
Me: Christ. Must we?
FD: Daddy!
Me: O.K.
My teeth are already clenched in anticipation of the forthcoming Theatre of Non-Cross-Generational Communication between Favourite Daughter and Mental Charity Shop Woman. I mean. It’s been close to a fucking year now.
If either I or FD were to find that a shop-keeper’s pretend inability to remember a name were comedy gold, we would have perhaps laughed by now. Once. For the look of it.
We never have.
Mental Charity Shop Woman usually spends at least ten minutes following FD around chanting a number of intentionally inaccurate names as FD absent-mindedly chants ‘no’. And very obviously wishing she would Go Away.
It’s a difficult thing really. She (Mental Charity Shop Woman) is obviously doing her best to be nice. And has taken an obvious shine to FD. Which she cannot be blamed for in my eyes. She is also at the cutting edge of customer service. Remembers her customers and that.
Christ I wish she would die.
So. Anyway. We walk in.
I am bracing myself for the charade of politeness in which she pretends to forget my daughter’s name and neither me nor my daughter think anything of it and pretend to correct her for the EIGHT BILLIONTH TIME.
Mental Charity Woman: Aaah. It’s Annabel isn’t it? [FD’s name is not Annabel]
FD: [Very VERY loud] Gaaah! [Looks with total contempt at MCW and then me]. Not this AGAIN?! [Very VERY loud]
And then storms around for a bit, ignoring any retard adults.
I clench my teeth. Roll my eyes apologetically at MCW.
MCW is visibly taken-aback.
I wait until we are outside before I smother her with kisses.
She tells me to get off.
Which includes the Charity Shop. And the Woman In The Charity Shop.
Each Saturday she looks at her watch. And thinks to herself ‘Oooh that bleary-eyed man with the really beautiful little girl (she’s not his in my opinion) will be in soon. It’s nearly quarter past twelve.’
She fusses with her hair a bit.
‘I’ve got this wonderful connection with that young lady,’ she thinks to herself. ‘Our little game when I pretend to get her name wrong every time really delights her. Every week. For the last six months. Oh she loves the game, and, by extension, me. And I’m sure her Dad feels it to be the highlight of his day. Although he could have a shave. And comb his hair. And do a little more than grunt at me. Anyway. They’ll be here in a minute. What shall I call her today? She’s so funny though. Pretends not to be interested in my joke. Silly girl. I’m so good with kids me.’
Anyway.
Favourite Daughter: Daddy! Charity Shop!
Me: Christ. Must we?
FD: Daddy!
Me: O.K.
My teeth are already clenched in anticipation of the forthcoming Theatre of Non-Cross-Generational Communication between Favourite Daughter and Mental Charity Shop Woman. I mean. It’s been close to a fucking year now.
If either I or FD were to find that a shop-keeper’s pretend inability to remember a name were comedy gold, we would have perhaps laughed by now. Once. For the look of it.
We never have.
Mental Charity Shop Woman usually spends at least ten minutes following FD around chanting a number of intentionally inaccurate names as FD absent-mindedly chants ‘no’. And very obviously wishing she would Go Away.
It’s a difficult thing really. She (Mental Charity Shop Woman) is obviously doing her best to be nice. And has taken an obvious shine to FD. Which she cannot be blamed for in my eyes. She is also at the cutting edge of customer service. Remembers her customers and that.
Christ I wish she would die.
So. Anyway. We walk in.
I am bracing myself for the charade of politeness in which she pretends to forget my daughter’s name and neither me nor my daughter think anything of it and pretend to correct her for the EIGHT BILLIONTH TIME.
Mental Charity Woman: Aaah. It’s Annabel isn’t it? [FD’s name is not Annabel]
FD: [Very VERY loud] Gaaah! [Looks with total contempt at MCW and then me]. Not this AGAIN?! [Very VERY loud]
And then storms around for a bit, ignoring any retard adults.
I clench my teeth. Roll my eyes apologetically at MCW.
MCW is visibly taken-aback.
I wait until we are outside before I smother her with kisses.
She tells me to get off.
posted by Tired Dad at
7:48 pm
21 Comments:
I hope Favourite Daughter is also Only Daughter?
Kids eh - can always rely on them to tell it how it is!
You know Tired Dad, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were my husband.
Have posted your URL to my blogroll and recommended you to other tired dads....all relating wildly, so far.
Well, if she's so milky-minded that she can't think up a new schtick to engage with FD, then fuck her.
It's been a bad weekend.
Tee hee
There is no doubt about it ... it is in the genes!!! you have schooled her well. Be proud
Daughters are the business
Fantastic!
MCW is clearly a cast-off customer service representative from Marks & Spencer.
I'm hoping FD's the prettiest of six, and my advice would be to make her wear a name tag. It's the only thing that works for me. I constantly call my two kids by my least favourite husband's name, usually when I'm telling them off, which is ...basically ...telling.
OH SNAP!
I'd say you bribed her to do it, but sounds like she's a chop off the old block and didn't need any special incentive. Anwyay that's priceless.
you must be so proud.
how's enchanted dad these days?
FD rocks haha
Dandy: Obviously. And welcome.
Kerri: Yes, although I adopt the same policy myself. Sadly, people assume I am joking. And welcome.
MM: No I'm not. And many thanks. And welcome.
m_g: Not as bad as mine, I can assure you.
me: Oh I am.
Dinners: You know it.
Boris: Thanks.
Honey: She is just the one, and the prettiest of everyone. (Barf)
OK: You are not alone.
Clarissa: 'Twas all her own work.
RG: Who fucking cares?
Pink: Indeed she does.
Proud. Very proud. Me too - three year old called mean and grumpy next door neighbour a "loser" last night when she slammed the door in order to block out the excrutiating noise of children frolicking in the garden (yes my children frolick). He was scolded loudly then hugged on our return indoors. Love Children, they say just what we are thinking.
They're like have your own little walking talking id.
You'll have the PC brigade after you for calling her a Mental Charity Shop Woman, they prefer to call them MIND Charity Shops nowadays.
FD sounds like a chip off the old block. Well done.
Oh very good.
And thanks.
Sounds like your daughter has MCW pegged completely
Hello.
spoilt
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