I’m beginning to think my descriptions of my daughter are all negative. Actually most of our time spent together is pleasant, if often confusing. Take for example this Tuesday afternoon when I came home from work. Child Harbat took me to my closet, got out my garment bag with my kilt and Scottish dress items, threw it on the bed with a groan, and told me we were getting dressed to do bagpiper stuff. It’s hard to argue with that cute little face and I’ve always loved getting dressed up, even wearing a natty bowtie and white suit before hitting my tenth birthday. So I got dressed and she handed me each item and asked about its use.
CH: “What’s this?”
Me: “Those are studs for a tuxedo shirt. I’m not wearing a tuxedo shirt.”
CH: “Fine. What’s this?”
Me: “That’s my sporran. You wear that so you can have a place to put things since you don’t have a pocket. But I don’t need to wear that tonight.”
CH: “Put it on, Babbo.”
Me: “Okay.”
Finally I was all dressed and she got on her own Scottish outfit, a tartan dress with black dress shoes. She finished off the look with a Glengarry hat in Robertson tartan and we went outside for pictures. Oh, you want me to smile?
Okay, here comes the smile!
When CH got hold of the camera, the perspective was…a bit lower.
I got out my bagpipes and played a bit until CH decided it was time to get out a box of rocks and shells.
Me: “Can I play one more tune?”
CH: “No. You’re done.”
Me: “Okay.”
Writer, architect, father, husband.
Aye me lassie. I can see who is making the calls.