A decade ago, I had to be hauled up by my bikini strings to prevent me from collapsing onto the smooth sands of Phuket, overcome by the most unbecoming mirth at the look of outraged horror on Aashish's face, reflected and surpassed by the one on Mimi's as the para sailing dude blithely assumed their father daughter status.... a true Mastercard moment for the trophy wife.
2009. Spanish restaurant, dodgy side of Maida Vale. Birthday dinner, and I quote, 'It's my birthday today'... 'Oh really?! Happy 21st!!' 'Actually it's 25th'... 'and she is your daughter?'. Shock. Horror. Hilarity. Who said short, good looking, bald men can't spawn taller, should have left short checked skirt & doc martins in the classroom women?! The thought is enough to dissolve my resolve (and apparently spout horrible rhyme), and a smooth Rioja to celebrate the momentous occasion of Daddy's ascendancy seems not just appropriate, but verry necessary as we order tapas to feed a family of four. Much merriment ensues despite an allegedly unexpected drop in the flirt quotient from the lovely waitress, and a second bottle soothes my momentary consternation at the alternative to daughter possibilities in her mind...
Undaunted, Daddy dearest regales me with the newest tales from his classroom, oblivious to the irony (think professor, not paedophile!) as we review the potential project that Kirandeep Kiran could be. Pygmalion meets Oedipus? I consider it my filial duty to carefully point out that it is rather worrisome on many levels, that the would be purveyor of style was dressed in jeans, t-shirt stunningly complemented by a grubby hoodie from Gap.... Daddy leaves me to deal with the cheque.... (and he has the nerve to complain about my tarnishing his image!!). Happy Birthday..... Papaji.
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