Saturday, 9 March 2013

Man on a Doomed Mission

I am a man on a mission.

There is a favourite T-shirt missing. It is black, it is classic. I look good in it and that is not the case with many a T-shirt.

There are two usual suspect to be harangued. Its a dirty job haranguing, but when there is haranguing to be done by the Laws of the Daddydom, I will do it.

Son refers me to daughter.

Dauughter refers to son.

Dad finds evidence, by a search of assorted laundry items, otherwise what was once called the floor of a toddler bedroom, I find a T-shirt, my T-shirt, my  favourite T-shirt, it is  somewhat trampled  by teenage daughter feet. I am not happy.


A stirrong defence is mounted by the daughter with an air of being a victim of unwanted and unnecessary accusations, that it was delivered by a Mother. How was she to know a non-descript black T-shirt was mine. Eh Voila.

Then she adds with a confident air of admission  and a smile that  a thought may have passed between brain cells, that it may have been her fault after all.

'Sorry I should have checked the XXXL label and I would have known it was yours.'

There was no need for that extra X.


  1. Hahaha... They think so quickly at that age don't they! :D

  2. Oh that was cruel. Make a note of this - revenge is necessary.

  3. Sorry for my late reply, thankyou both for commenting, I have been away where the communication is reliant on pigeons and the flightpath being over the vegetarian tribes.

    As for Revenge, it is said to be best served cold, my own view its best served old when my primary care giver will need to take my XXXXL bum to the commode. Pass me a doughnut, daughter.