We had quite a sobering experience last weekend when daughters #1 and #2 rocked up at a wedding along with their 18-year-old cousin wearing matching mini dresses and with matching hair-dos.
As they marched up to the venue together before the nuptials the groom said to me: “Oh my God, they look like something out of a Robert Palmer video.”
For those of you who weren’t around in the 1980s, the late Mr Palmer shot to superstardom thanks to his video for Addicted To Love and later I Didn’t Mean To Turn You On which featured identikit models as the backing band in figure-hugging dresses, hair-dos and make-up.
He may even have appeared in the video himself, nobody can quite recall because they were too busy gawping at the impossibly beautiful models pretending to play the guitars, keyboards and drums.
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is our daughters are growing up fast. Way too fast. At least 10 years ago when they were constantly tugging at our sleeves to go to their pretend tea parties in the garden with their teddy bears and dolls, you knew where they were.
At the time of writing I haven’t seen daughter #1 in two days. I’m not expecting to see her for another 48 hours either. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t boarded a plane to Turkey with the intention of hopping over the border to Syria to join Islamic State. She can’t anyway, her passport’s expired.
No, she’s busy staying at her friends’ houses. Back at the base unit we are so dull and lifeless in comparison that we might as well be furniture. When I say furniture, I mean a washing machine, fast food outlet and a cashpoint.
Occasionally we are graced with daughter #1’s presence, especially on days out to seaside towns with indoor water parks. On those days she’s sitting in the car’s passenger seat, pipping the horn while we’re still brushing our teeth.
We were by the seaside bright and early last Sunday and the place looked like the film set of Shrek Forever After. Most of the dads were the shape and size of Shrek, the mums looked like Princess Fiona and the battalion of screeching, self-entitled kids were without doubt the inspiration for Rumpelstiltskin.