I am in the office, checking my emails in lieu of doing
I telephone the ex-Mrs Tired for one of the few times since
she decided her life and those of our son and daughter would be considerably
improved without me in it. (She usually calls me.)
Me: This school trip of Favourite Daughter’s is NEXT WEEK! I’ve
just had the email from the school! I didn’t realise it was so soon – she’s
only bloody eleven why the hell is she going to FRANCE on her own?
Her: She won't be on her own, it's with the school. And I think it’s Belgium actually…
Me: WHAT? We don’t even know what fucking country it is? CHRIST!
We’ve both seen Taken…
As the words tumble from my five-foot-fuck-all eight-stone
body I know I’ve misjudged things.
Her: WHAT! Why would you even think something like that! Why
would you say it! What is wrong with you?
I belatedly realise that silence is my best option at this
Her: And I’ll tell you something for nothing – you're no Liam FUCKING Neeson!
It’s a valid point. And probably one of the funniest things
she’s said to me.