It does seem to attract a lot of attention when I'm out and about in it.wow every panels a different white colour ?
does it get you a boat load of pussy or do just like shit cars ?
Not many, no.odd choice of motor,
I'd assume there not many left on the roads ?
She's obviously pregnant.Although I was livid and spitting feathers at the time, one of my all time favourite "teenage troubles" moments came last summer when instead of just feeding her, I stupidly asked my daughter what she fancied for dinner...
"Oooo I'm really feeling an XL portion of cod from that lush chippy in Needham you know?"
Great idea. It's about a 6 mile drive but their chicken strips are just off the ******* chart. It also gives me an excuse to give the Renault 4 a bit of a leg stretch too, so off we go...
On arrival, she starts eyeing up the menu. No pictures, just words. I'm like "what are you doing?"
Her, "Oh, I'm now thinking the chicken looks good..."
Me, "But it's in words...?"
In the end I suggest we order what we came for and split the fish and chicken up when it's cooked, have a bit of each. Ideal right?
We take our seats, they put this giant piece of battered cod-on-*******-steroids on my table, the 10 chicken strips on hers. I carefully dissect the cod down the middle and go to hand her the "bigger half" (don't want any arguments now, do we?)
She leaps over her plate, protecting it from all angles and goes "no no no no.... I don't want any fish!"
Don't want any what the **** you just say?
I'm now sat trying to demolish a ******* blue whale on the biggest pile of chips, while she's there troughing her way through my ******* delicious chicken strips, thinking there's something very wrong about all of this.
Oh it gets worse though.
I finally finish the last bit of fish, skin & batter aside. I've eaten about 3 chips and I'm one "waffer thin" mint away from exploding. I look over at her - she's decided to eat the chips first and is on her 3rd of 10 pieces of chicken doing that eye-rolly thing teenagers do when you've just asked them to take their plate out or put a ******* new toilet roll on the holder. Oh dear...
"I can't eat any more Dad, do you want mine?"
"Yours? YOURS?", "No I'm stuffed, thanks sweetheart... Just shove them in the bin over there"
Her, "oh but I feel guilty cos you've just spent all that money"
Honestly... Oh but it gets worse.
Fuming, we drive home. Cramped up to **** in my Renault, wanting the pain to just go away in one giant burp. We get home and I lie flat on the floor, stretched right out, feeling like I won't need to eat for at least another week...
About half an hour later, she comes down from her room (to take a break from texting, of course), straight into the fridge and helps herself to a bag of Fridge Raiders, a packet of King Prawn Sizzler McCoys, two cheese strings, a yoghurt and a glass of orange juice and fucks off back upstairs.
Remember, you're partly to blame for all of this, she does, after all, carry your DNA.When they're babies they wait for you to take the nappy off to piss on you and wait until you try to burp them to throw up on you...
When they're toddlers they'll blissfully ignore all those colourful stimulating toys you bought them in order to play with your boring black mobile phone, managing to lock the screen and change the language to Arabic...
When they're in primary school they'll pick up nits, bad habits and every childhood illness known to man from other kids...
When they're in secondary school they'll learn to swear, lie and cheat.
Oh but when they leave school... that's where the fun begins.
So I'm cooking late on Thurs evening as I have guests inbound x3
They're already running late because her daughter's boyfriend has got lost in his home town and I'm carefully trying to time everything in the oven so it doesn't come out like mush. In between the text updates, I've now got my daughter in full panic because she's just realised the time we're planning to hit Reading next Friday means she'll most likely miss one... Yes ONE... of the first acts due on stage for the Festival. Disaster.
It's OK, she says. She'll just get a train ticket to arrive early and I'll drive ahead later. It's only £27. But what will her mum say? Texts go back and forth, check oven, check arrival times, check oven, beep beep, beep beep (shit ring tones I have). Eventually though after a big old argument with her old dear, everyone's finally happy she's heading back a little early so she doesn't miss the start.
Today I sends her a text - "You get my tickets for this Friday?"
Her "Oh I got yours, but I haven't got mine yet..."
So.... she was that worried about missing the start of Reading Festival, messing her mum around and me even further Thurs night, that 5 days later she hasn't bothered getting the train ticket that she said she was going to get "there and then".
How the hell do teenagers remember to breathe in and out? Given everything else seems to "slip their mind" and is added to the ever-growing list of "stuff they didn't get around to"...?
I'm told this is most teenagers, apparently.
Obviously I love her more than life itself, but for my own sanity, please share your stories of what utter bastards they can be...
I've heard this "magical" age banded about by other sources too so I'm inclined to believe it. Oh dear... only another 11½ years to push...If it's any consolation they do get better eventually. By the time they are 30!
There is much truth in the saying that grandchildren are your reward for not murdering your children when they are teenagers!
Nonsense. I'm a saint.Remember, you're partly to blame for all of this, she does, after all, carry your DNA.