Dignity Dawg

Today I lost some dignity.

This is not unusual.

No. Not for me. My life is beset by minor indignities.

These are the sort of occurrences that shouldn't actually happen to people more than once per century. For instance, last week I lost my credit card - just moments after finding my wallet. This just seems like a minor, slightly ironic everyday event, I admit. But this morning, after waiting a week for the bugger to arrive, I hastily ripped open the envelope only to watch my new card fall out, magically float through the air, flutter around a bit and, almost intelligently, slip through a narrow crack between the floorboards into the dark space below the house where the bears and witches live.

But this is not the indignity I am talking about.

Also today, my business partner and fellow fuckwit decided, against my advice, that it would be wise to drive a hundred miles off route on the way to a meeting with a major client, making us an hour-and-a-half late. This wouldn't have been so embarrassing if last time we had done a job for them he hadn't got frustrated and ended up accidentally sending out a hundred DVD copies of a children’s theatre event that displayed the word BOLLOCKS when inserted into a computer.

But that isn't the massive crushing embarrassment I am talking about. Oh no.

Was it when The Lady snapped commands in front of friends today - and I obediently followed on, looking for all the world like her bitch?

Nah, that happens all the time. I'm a dad now and my own personality and capacity to make my own decisions has been gently badgered away and replaced with a clockwork timer, installed, owned and operated by The Lady.

No, no, it was none of these. It was... Let me set the scene for you:

I'd been in the car all day: attending meetings (late) and sorting out a new strand for the company (incomplete). We'd been stuck in traffic (boring) and had grabbed sausage rolls, bacon butties and Snicker bars when we could (bulky). Trundling back into Liverpool (monotonous) in a diesel engined Fiesta Classic (rumbling) then picking up the kids (grumbling). We took them to restaurant/adventure play area/pub/industrial unit and ate sizeable portions of pubgrubmuck (fudgy). By the time we got back to the house things were stirring.

Lets just say there was about to be an eruption, possibly a tsunami, in the region of the world I like to refer to as the "Specific Rim".

I made excuses about having to take some medicine and headed off up to the thunderbox. I'll spare you the details, but lets just say I didn't have to work too hard to achieve quite impressive results. I relaxed for a moment to read my current bog-book - one about the history of film editing when...

...When the door flew open and there stood, neatly framed in the doorway, was my family. My beautiful lady and my two adorable little girls all stood frozen, watching me mid-crap, legs apart with a book in my hands.

I stared back.

They stared harder.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow.

They raised six.

A pause.

I mumbled incoherently about not thinking it was bathtime just yet.

No reply.

Another mumble about there being no lock.

More silence.

I tried a wry smile.

Nothing.

"Hello Daddy!" Mali, our cute little two-year-old had ended the standoff.

I blinked.

They sniffed and wrinkled their noses.

"Mali, please close the door." I said evenly.

"No," she stated firmly, sitting down on the step, "I want to watch."

After that, I didn't really have the will to finish the job off. She sat staring intently whilst I tried to discretely wipe. When I had finished, she turned to The Lady and Ani, our baby, and declared:

"Daddy done a poo."

A truly beautiful moment.