Its one thing to fail. Quite another to fail in the glorious fashion that I'm pleased to say First-Born has inherited from me.
I got a phone message from The Ex on Sunday: "Oh hi, First-Born has a swimming gala tomorrow - I forgot to tell you about it. Its at 10 in the morning, I can't make it but I told her you'd be there. Byeee"
I'm lucky I have a very understanding boss. My companion, B, raised a quizzical eyebrow as I slammed the phone back into its cradle (missing the slot a few times for comedy value before lobbing the handset at the sofa in a fit of pique, feeling a bit silly, and then carefully slotting it home.) "The Ex?" she asked, as if my thunderous countenance wasn't explanation enough.
Anyhow, I made it the gala. Watched interchangeable 7 year olds splash around (I have to guiltily confess that I couldn't work out which one was First-Born for a good half hour - all the swimming costumes are identical) until I finally spotted First-Born. Quite easy really; it was her first race. There were four entrants but I could only see three kids until I looked to the back of the pool and spotted her. Playing Flipper to the torpedo-like swimming of her competitors.
To finish last by almost the entire length of the pool when the race was only one length long is something to be applauded. And I did, enthusiastically.
Tonight she stays over and we shall have cake and Toy Story to celebrate.
