Monday, April 16, 2007

Like Father, Like Daughter


I have returned to Scotland. One emotional goodbye at the airport and a crowded flight squashed between two overweight strangers – one who snored loudly for the whole hour and a half flight, the other who coughed all over me – later and I am back staying with the parents for a few days.

I hadn’t seen my dad since before I had turned 21 and so we used it as an excuse to have an extended aperitif (whisky for dad and two bottles of wine for mum and me). All in all I have celebrated my birthday about twelve times in just two weeks.

After dinner I opened my suitcase and delightfully pulled out the chocolate chickens that FP’s grandfather had given me as an Easter present. Mmm fondant filled chocolate chickens…

***


“Right I’m off to bed; some of us have to work tomorrow,” my dad said as he kissed mum and me goodnight.

Mum and I were looking at the computer; thousands of photos we had taken in France on the screen, making us cringe at our self-conscious smiles and poses, and the fact that one of our eyes always looks smaller than the other.

But as dad walked towards the door we both noticed it.

A big, brown, wet patch on the back of his cream trousers…

What the…?

Mum quickly ran after him; grabbing his trousers and asking, “what the hell have you done?!”

Turns out he sat on a chocolate chicken which then melted onto his trousers, onto the cushions and sofa, and yes…the remains of the chicken lay on the cream carpet, smudged brown matted into the thick luxury softness.

“My holiday!” Mum cried, regarding the mess. (She had chosen to buy new cushions, curtains and a carpet for the main room instead of going on holiday this summer. Consequently, these are now reffered to as 'mum's holiday' i.e. 'don't sit on mum's holiday', 'take your shoes off or you'll ruin mum's holiday', 'I've spilt coke on mum's holiday'...)

Thankful it wasn’t me, I lay huddled in a ball on the floor laughing so hard my cheeks and stomach muscles cramped painfully.

I know what you are thinking. Yes, I am my father’s daughter. Silliness runs in our family. There’s no escaping it.

4 comments:

T.D. Newton said...

It could have been worse.

I'll let your mom think on that for a bit.

Great story.

Princesse Ecossaise said...

believe me, we both thought it was worse when we first saw it!!

Sebastien said...

We all know chocolate chickens are evil. This is a traumatic, terrible event and I hope you punished those fiendish chickens accordingly.

Princesse Ecossaise said...

haha! well the fact one was stuck on my dad's butt melting for a good few hours could be counted as a punishment!