The Ex was collecting First-Born this morning. "May I use the bathroom?" she enquired, this being her usual way of saying "I fancy snooping around your house for evidence of Another Woman and then theatrically flushing the toilet, is that ok?"
I nodded, and she gingerly made her way downstairs.
Presently there was a squawk from the ground floor.
"These bathroom scales, are they in kilograms or stones and pounds?"
I was about to answer when First-Born looked up from her croissant: "It won't make any difference Dad, she's probably already broken the scales. She needs something that measures in bigger units. I call them 'Mummygrams'"
Ordinarily I'd chide her for this - its a bit cruel. But unfortunately I was drinking orange juice at the time and managed to pass a substantial portion through my nose as I snorted back a laugh.
The Ex appeared, scowling, and said "What's happened here?"
First-Born shot me a very obvious wink before turning back to ineffectually smearing strawberry jam over the pastry along with much of the table.
"Nuthin'" she replied.
