Diary Of A Bad Dad
Ayoung mum has received a bit of a beasting in the media after it was revealed she billed the mum of her threeyear-old daughter’s friend £325 after her child came home from a playdate with ink on her boots.
I do feel a bit sorry for her but only because she had to share a sofa with Piers Morgan. On every other level she got what she deserved.
But it has made me a little bit nervous about any potential play date for Toddlernator the Terrible.
He’s not a bad lad, but he is mischievous and hard as nails, which is not a good combination to be let loose in somebody’s else house.
I can imagine the day when I come home from work and I ask Mrs T how did his playdate go. Ashen faced she’ll reply: “He came home with a bruised and battered leg... and we don’t know who it belongs to!’’
I wonder what the going rate for that is!
The other day I watched him walk into a door and yell ‘ow!’.
I rushed to his aid saying: “Are you all right, son.’’ He turned, grimaced, then burst out laughing.
The same situation with his sister would have resulted in 10 minutes of hugging and kissing it better and chocolate.
I don’t think even man flu will get the better of him.