When my daughter was four I was asked to do some face painting. She wanted a pretty butterfly. I thought this was dull so livened things up by painting a scary clown. She hasn’t forgiven me, (see above). Quick off the mark as ever Mrs Flashbang and the boy joined in to make her feel better. That didn’t work, nor did my offer of any treat that a credit card could buy within 100 miles. Somewhat improbably, as a result of this incident, she blames me for her inconvenient fear of blood and needles.
We discovered this when she had her ears pierced at sixteen. Now if you are going to faint dramatically, the beauty salon at Harrods is definitely the place to do it. They do take care of you there. Apparently, there were girls in her House at school who did piercing for free with sewing needles but no, we had to go to Harrods.
Trundling on, (and omitting the Christmas incident when she fainted after pricking her palm with the pen knife I had given her), my by now not so little princess was at the dentist yesterday for a chat about wisdom teeth. ‘Please don’t tell me any more about it’ She pleaded with the dentist. ‘I must, I have to tell you what we’re going to do; I’m not allowed not to.’ She lasted another few seconds before the familiar crump of my daughter passing out was heard.
While she was recovering, the dental nurse mopped her brow and said, and I promise I’m not making this up, ’well dear, when the time comes you’re not going to handle child birth very well are you, perhaps you’ll need to think about adoption.’ ………nice.