So, I'm on Twitter. Kids are in the bath (they are 5 & 2) when the call comes out. "Dad, she's done it in the bath again".
Yes that's right we had a Code 9 brown torpedo situation. Ironically, we also had a toy torpedo in the bath but that had the good sense to remain hanging around by the plughole. I raced into the bathroom as slowly as my morals would allow. Number 1 child had had the good sense to extract himself from the arena pretty damn quickly. Number 2 (how appropriate) sat playing happily with a Waybaloo figure.
My wife smugly leaned on the door-frame, arms folded. "Your turn". She can barely contain the glee as she removes the small child and takes her to sit on her potty. A bit bloody late for that, thinks I.
I glance down into the tub praying for 2 things:
Firstly that I've misunderstood my son and that what he meant by "she's done it in the bath again" is that she's managed to complete a Rubik's cube in under 40 seconds and I've failed to realise she has done it before and that she is in fact a genius, and I will be shortly living a life of leisure as she creates a computer operating system to outsell Windows.
or
Secondly that she has in fact gone for a pleasurable tinkle in the water and the clean up operation is going to go somewhat smoother that a BP Oil Rig...
The bath tub Gods are not with me today. The shadow under the water stares at me like the Red October. I can hear Sean over my shoulder "A great day comrades, we sail into history! "
I know what has to be done. A father has his duties. Those of you expecting the gory details are going to be disappointed. Suffice to say, I did what I needed to do.
It washed off very quickly, unlike the stain on my minds eye. That may stay with me forever.
One day she will ask me to pay for her wedding......
