More Money Than Sense

It is, apparently, another sign of my acceleration to grumpy old man status. My younger daughter Michaela greeted me today with 'look what I've got, Dad'. After a hard day's graft at the office and struggling with the re-heated remains of last night's macaroni cheese (delicious last night but stodge personified twenty four hours later) I looked up at her smiling face. Now Michaela is still a teenager, about to enter her 19th year in a couple of weeks, so when she smiles it usually means a) she wants money; b) she's done something she doesn't want me to know about or c) a combination of both which means serious trouble.

She proceeded to show me her new dress which she purchased from some boutique or other (she gave me a puzzled look when I mentioned the word boutique - another remnant from the 1970s) I say dress but it looked little more than a medium size handkerchief to me. It became a health hazard because I damn near choked on my stodgy macaroni when she told me she spent £60 on it. True, it's silk, Yes, it's a nice dark red colour (and anything close to maroon gets my approval) But sixty notes?

Therein lies one of the many differences between men and women. Given £60 to spend there's no way on Earth I would splash the dosh on one item of clothing. £60 would give me a good evening at the pub with some pals; pay to see Hearts play away from home, if you include the cost of a match ticket, travel, beer etc; a couple of tickets to see a decent gig (Ally Kerr is playing in Glasgow at the end of this month - this boy is a fantastic musical talent); or a fine afternoon's entertainment at the races (there's a meeting at Musselburgh a week today - the holiday Monday)

But my darling daughter doesn't see it this way. She spends three score on a flimsy dress that barely covers her ar...artic regions. Still, being a dutiful father, I'm prepared to put my ageing opinions to one side and tell her how wonderful she looks in it. After all, it's a father's duty to give his children as much praise, support and encouragement as possible.

And if you happen to read this, Michaela, I'll need a lift home from work tomorrow...