I am not completely sure about Father’s Day, it seems like Valentines Day except rather than driving sales to florists and champagne sellers it drives activity towards slippers and golf ball stockists.
The children’s school is clearly in agreement with me. On Mothers day they sent the kids home with an inordinate amount of crap, some self coloured cards (which could have been the reason Clintons went under), some home made bath salts which as a side effect turn your skin an amusing shade of blue, and some pictures drawn by one’s offsprings. All of these gifts ensured that he who helped create them had it covered without lifting a finger.
However for the momentous event that is Father’s Day the school decided not to intervene.
It was not until Friday that I discovered this little fact when I dug around in their school bags looking for anything with the popular phrase “Happy Father’s Day” on it. After tipping the bags on the floor, wailing with despair and cracking open the wine I realised desperate action needed to be taken; and the next day my hangover and I took the children to my own worse nightmare….
The craft store.
Several arguments, hours and one gluing of hands to the table incident later and we produced these beauties….
To me this was present enough, knowing the time, effort and yelling that had gone into creating these masterpieces that even my friend Maggie would be proud of, I felt my role in the fathers day debacle was complete.
Twin Boy wouldn’t rest, he kept reminding me about the sodding bath salts I was given for Mother’s Day, and insisted it would be wrong to not generate a present of some description…
I considered home made shaving foam but we were out of whipped cream. I played with the idea of wrapping up an empty box and telling him it was full of love, however when I presented this idea to the kids they looked at me like I was full of sh%t.
So 6pm Saturday night found me fighting in Tesco’s with other mothers who had been let down by their local educational institute we were all desperately trying to get the last “I love Daddy” mug and the much sought after “monster feet” slippers.
I secured the mug but had to walk away from the slippers as I came up against a women with tantruming toddler twins who looked like the shock of fathers day arriving so quickly this year could be the final nail in her coffin.
As I walked away I saw her hug the slippers to her chest and heard her muttering “you can share a present, Daddy doesn’t need two.”. As her children continued to beat each other with hefty breadsticks she raised her arms to the strip lighting roof and cried ” God damn you Nursery; why have you forsaken me..”
Feeling her pain and knowing I could do no good except show her the future I walked away leaving her rocking in the mens footwear aisle.
I got he who helped create them some cheese and port; there is no way he can finish it before it goes out of date without a dedicated helper….
Bring on Mother’s Day, I am almost out of bath salts….