Best things in small, fizzy packages.

By Bad Dad on February 28, 2008 12:55 PM | Permalink

MY SEVEN-year-old daughter Jess was asked to trace her hand onto a piece of paper and write down the names of two best friends and three 'adults who help her' above the fingers.

Lucy and Ellie were both there for her mates along with grandad, Aunty Jill and mum.

My so supportive eldest lad Nick was beaming as he broke the news to me that I didn't figure in the 'top three grown-ups'...even though Jess rarely sees her aunt.

So I decided to do something about "worming my way onto the list" (my wife's words) in the only way dads know how - bribery.

I took her swimming (great fun), bought fast food (well the toy that comes with it actually) and then went to buy a pair of jeans she needed anyway.

But as time ticked by - I had to pick Nick up from a sleepover at noon - and she hadn't found a pair, she slowly began to turn.

"You've got no taste", "shopping's more fun with mummy" and finally "let's just go home" - a few of the jibes which struck like an arrow through my heart.

I dropped her off and picked Nick up to return to the unhappy (spoilt) girl when Nick - bless him - came to my rescue.

"Jess, dad bought you this from the garage," he lied, producing a litre bottle of some hideously unhealthy fizzy drink.

"Oh dad I love you so much," she beamed.

"Thanks Nick," I mouthed at him, with - I must admit - a little tear in my eye.