Letting Thomas eat prunes was simply an accident waiting to happen
DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST TIME DAD OF TWINS
My immediate supervisor and mother of the twins, Victoria, was working and I had sole responsibility for their welfare until 6pm, when the normal hierarchy of power would be restored.
The day started with a relaxed breakfast of toast and jam amidst the twin’s carefully constructed sofa cushion den.
Once I’d half-heartedly attempted to remove jam stains from the upholstery, it was time to hit the local high street where, after using the phrase ‘look with your eyes, not your hands’ for the hundredth time, I felt I needed to stop at a café for a forbidden treat to buy their favouritism.
We took our seats and Thomas selected the prune and almond slice for the simple reason it came with ice cream and Emma went for apple pie.
They enjoyed almost a pint of orange juice, I had a cappuccino and we shared stories about Minnie Mouse and things Thomas had done wrong at nursery courtesy of his supergrass sister.
The next stop was the bakers, locally famed for making a variety of unusual, exotic and obviously expensive breads.
Thomas helped me select a £4.50 large spelt sourdough with seeded crust from the rack by putting his little hands all over it and therefore giving me no choice but to buy it.
As I handed over more money than I’d ever paid in my life for one loaf, Thomas said ‘I need a wee’ – repeated a few minutes later with unmistakable urgency. I spotted an opportunity involving a quiet wall.
The trousers came down and I watched in horror as the number 1 doubled to a number 2 and Emma loudly informed everyone in the vicinity ‘Tommy’s done a poo-poo on the floor’.
I scanned the area for anything at all that would be suitable in a clean-up operation and the only thing I had was my pricey loaf in an ethically sourced brown paper bag.
To be clear, I’d use the T-shirt off my back before the bread was involved, so I carefully removed it, balanced it on a bin and attempted to detoxify the pavement with a very thin paper bag while Emma provided a running commentary to any onlookers.
Once I’d achieved the clean-up, I ran from the scene of the crime, hoping for rain, but proud I still had the bread even if I’d be toasting it for hygiene reasons.
We arrived home and while I pondered the possibility of CCTV and appearing on a World’s Worst Parents showreel sometime in the future, I made a personal decision to never leave the house without the emergency rucksack again or let Thomas eat prunes and drink a pint of orange juice.