There’s a grim inevitability that one day you’ll turn into your parents – it’s a bit like Chelsea’s relentless procession to the 2014-15 Premier League title, it’s going to happen and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
Sadly for daughter #1, she’s turning into me.
Our eldest turns a scarcely believable 15 next week (FIFTEEN! How the hell did that happen?) and recently handed us a fairly modest wish list for presents that she’d like.
At the top of the list was a pair of adidas Gazelle trainers.
So I looked her in the eye and said: “What, you mean like these ones on my feet?”
Her face dropped like she’d caught me flipping through her texts on her mobile phone.
That’s one of the things about being over 40, you become invisible.
She hadn’t noticed the red, yellow, green and blue three-striped classics that men of a certain vintage like yours truly have been wearing since The Farm.
Since we were going all old school we decided to buy them from an actual shop, only to be met with a succession of bored, indifferent and gormless teenage shop assistants who flounced around like their farts don’t stink.
Here’s a tip for struggling high street shops.
Don’t ignore customers who are waving their money at you.
There’s this thing called the internet you might have heard of that lets you shop on your phone while lying down in your house.
Anyway, we got lucky in the fourth shop we went in, came away with a pair of size six in black so daughter #1 can now dress like her dad.
The bank of mum and dad always seems to have its hand in its pocket and there’s little chance of a Government-backed five-year programme of quantitative easing to help us out.
Daughter #2 loves her dancing and the theatre arts school she goes to is magic.
But because she goes a lot, the bills we get sent read like mortgage statements.
Now, on top of everything else, she’s announced she wants to do ballet.
Strike that, she’s desperate to do ballet.
Stick it on your list to Father Christmas, dearie.
We’ll see what we can do.