Alright mate!
Some tufty-haired type standing next to me at the Gymboree said with a welcoming smile.
I turned to see in greater detail who could be annoying me. Oh great, a fucking Dad bastard. Magic. What had I done to deserve this? I gave him a terse nod and hoped he would go away.
He didn't. He was smiling and hanging about as if he was expecting an answer. For fuck sake. Oh well, I decided to be a bit more charitable and reply.
Aye, am alright. You?
I'm good mate, thanks for asking.
I decided not to mention how he had practically made me ask him and instead half turned away from him so I could watch the Little Boom run around like a loon at this Birthday party thing we were at.
That thing being Gymboree - a big padded hall with padded gym equipment. The kind of thing you would build for your Baboons if you were a millionaire Michael Jackson sort. Minus the sex machines of course.
This is great isn't it? The little ones get so much out of it. Oh look, that's my little one there! Hi Ryan!
He waved at some fat grub rolling around the floor. The grub waved back, blubbering something like Daddy, look at me!!
Grub-Daddy beamed with pride as he watched his child roll around the floor.
I must admit, I am not at my best. The wee one was up several times last night.
Grub-Daddy motioned at the grub rolling around on the floor as if I were to presume that this was the wee one and he wasn't affectionately referring to his tadger
Aye, I am a bit tired myself. Stayed up till about two getting pished on Whisky. It was fucking marvellous.
I shrugged my shoulders in the way of men who drink whisky and ride horses.
Although I don't have a horse. However, one could argue that neither do I have a cow and yet I still drink milk. So there.
Oh, oh my. I haven't had a drink for seven years.
Grub-Daddy looked around surreptitiously before leaning in and speaking in a lower voice.
I gave up drinking when we decided to start trying for a baby.
He pulled back and looked somewhat smug as if this were some incredible achievement.
I didn't want to rain on his parade but in my experience getting drunk had never been an impediment to getting someone pregnant. Quite the opposite.
Still, we didn't all have my manful jizzum.
I nodded at him absentmindedly. I wasn't sure what more to say to Grub-Daddy. Scottish people who don't drink make me feel uneasy. Like watching old dudes get excited when they talk about Nigella Lawson.
When you see them having such good fun it makes it all seem worth it, doesn't it?
Grub-Daddy's face shone with happiness as if he suspected he was being watched on a nanny cam.
I dunno, probably not worth quitting drinking for.
I attempted a chuckle but it came out like a fart from a dying dog.
Grub-Daddy snorted in agreement before snapping rigidly to attention and shaking his head vigorously.
We have never been happier so it was a small price to pay.
He sniffed and looked off into the distance. There was a tinge of sadness in his gaze and I found myself fumbling for something reassuring to say.
Well, Ryan looks about four so I suppose years of shagging would make up for not drinking.
There, good deed done. I folded my arms smugly.
Grub-Daddy looked at me strangely.
There weren't lots of shags.
He chewed his jaw back and forth as if there was a history he was desperate to unload on me.
I nodded wisely.
Ah well. No luck.
I patted him on the shoulder and headed off to the coffee machine. Hopefully the bitter old pish that it served would be better than Grub-Daddy's conversation.
I hate parents.