This is Why You Need a Daughter
Who else will save you from yourself?
It was Saturday morning, and I was filled with expansiveness. I put on some slap, donned my hat that accentuates my eyes, nodded to the mirror and stepped out for a walk with Son.
It’s a nice walk to the courtyard café where Daughter works. Sky was grey, but it was mild. Son and I ambled and chatted and all was good with the world.
Daughter greeted us. She wore a v. becoming peach sweatshirt, and I was just about to ask for a lend of it when she frowned.
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘Come here.’ She peered closer and pulled my face over the counter.
‘You’ve got mascara all over your eyelids. Close your eyes.’
She picked and rubbed and tutted and huffed and when she wasn’t picking and rubbing and tutting and huffing, she was sniggering. When she’d finished, I turned to my son.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘What — ?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me I had mascara — ’
‘What — ?’
‘Did you not notice?’
‘Clumps of it right above her eyes,’ said Daughter, sniggering.
‘What — ?’
