My daughter will be hitting double figures this year, and it dawned on me that in only a few years from now she will start âdatingâ boys. That doesnât bother me too much. It further occurred to me that she lives not far from a garrison that if I had to hazard a guess, is home to between 200-400 REMEs at any one point, and a number of other cap badges; and she will, at some point bump into one or two of them out in town from time to time. But again, that doesnât really bother me too much (yet). Then I cast my mind back to a few years ago, whilst having lunch in my line office one day. A mate and former Warrant Officer who I used to work with had a knack of bringing up all manner of topical squaddie adventures whilst I was midway through a ham sarnie, usually involving some scutter heâd smashed in his heyday. Between him and a couple of other fellow WOs heâd meet up with during lunch, they would regularly recall stories of various womenâs back doors theyâd kicked-in during the Detmold days, going into full details of red wings / brown wings / /tag-teaming / bagpiping /wiping sweetcorn chunks off at the end etc. I even recall a story about one of their mates taking a lass into the drying room of the guys block to avoid getting caught out, only to emerge sometime later sporting a red face (and totally oblivious to it of course). I wonder if she never told him it was âthat timeâ for a laugh, or maybe to get her own back on the squaddie from last time that never rang her back? None of this was a major problem though, provided I wasnât eating sausages or pickle â¦or anything with sweetcorn in it for that matter. But then one day they were talking about one of our âspeshulâ blokes in the Sqn. Picture a guy that bears a striking resemblance to the Scottish chicken with gegs on the Chicken Run, a guy who can calculate Ï to infinity and yet fit a non-return valve the wrong way around. A guy with a Masters in Engineering, yet but will hold a hose pipe to his eye to see why the waterâs not flowing out of it (â¦yet). This guyâs initials were DFT, of which we added to âFâ to stand for âFuckingâ. He was the guy that had only been laid twice in his life, and both times heâd paid through his nose for it too. So one lunch whilst eating a combination of tuna/sweetcorn sarnies and sausage/pickle, this Warrant Officer, without warning suddenly asks me, âMate â what would you do if you came home early one night and you found DFT hanging out of your daughter?â Lunch over. And I can quite comfortably say I dread the day I hear those words, âDad, Iâve met this guy, and youâll really like him â cos heâs in the Army too!â So my question to fellow arrsers â what would you think if your daughter was dating a squaddie? Obviously, Iâm not expecting any serious answers otherwise Iâd have posted this in one of them relationship forums, innit?