Publish and die
My family collection is now complete and I aim to publish within a few days.
There are just two problems. The first is that I’m not sure the images will appear even though I’ve done it just the way MS said I should, and although they’re not strictly necessary, they help to break up the book a little.
The second snag-ette is that if I do, She has threatened to kill me.
Can’t think why.
Here’s the first page.
In my continuing attempts to be a good father I was going to take my daughter shopping a few days ago so she could add to her already fifty or so phone covers. This was one to be genuine mink, apparently.
‘Are you ready?’ I called upstairs.
A mumbled grunt from upstairs signified ‘yes, father dear’ or something equally as non committal.
‘Did you make your bed?’
‘Well I was just wondering if you’d…’
‘You hate me. You hate me and wish I was dead!’
‘No I was just inquiring if you’d …’
‘You’d rather have a Ferrari than me. You wish I’d never been born!’ Actually, I prefer Porsches but the distinction would have been lost on her.
‘Mum! Dad hates me and wishes I was dead. And he hates you, too, cos’ he told me.’
A heavy shifting sound from the living room preceded the sun scurrying for cover behind a cloud and the cat inserting itself under the sofa, mewling in terror.
‘What’s going on?’ My wife emerged as my daughter, a sometimes pretty seventeen year old, lumbered down the stairs scowling like Golem evicted from the underworld. It was a relief to see that she’d coloured her hair again. Green is just so last week.
I decided to let it go in case I added yet another phrase to the already lengthy list of obscenities at which I’m so good, like: hullo, or good morning, darling (to either of them), and so opted for the easy way out.
‘I’m going upstairs to write.’
‘Yes, go on,’ my beloved intoned while the spawn from hell gloated on the staircase, ‘go up and spend some more time with that computer. You love it more than me, anyway.’
I’m beginning to understand where she’s gets it all from.