Daddy, Daddy!! Wake up! It's morning!!
A barrage of shouting pulled me out of my cosy slumber.
Daddy, come on! It's Father's Day!!
I made a vile horkling noise as I tried to open my sleep-crusted eyes. Like old clams from the deep, they resisted before cracking open with a wet briny crunch.
What the fuck was this? It didn't feel like morning? It felt like night? What time was it? I mean, it was daylight as I could see the sun shining through the blind but that meant nothing these days. It could be four in the fucking morning and the sun would be out.
I dragged my phone close to my face and peered at it.
JEEBUS?!!? It was half past SIX?! On a Sunday?! What the fuck were these little bastards playing at?
Ugh, it's too early?
I managed to gurgle, tugging ineffectually at the quilt.
No Daddy, it's Father's Day, get up! GET UP! WE MADE YOU A CAKE!
AND BREAKFAST!
I sat up and saw both my children capering around like hell-sent creatures around the bed.
Fucking hell. Sometimes I wished I had used more condoms. Then I might not be in this infernal pickle.
But then I remembered that the NSA were collecting such condoms, as part of their demonic plans to create a super race of Booms.
Or so I had been led to believe by myself one night I was drunk.
Ok ok, I'm coming. hold your horses.
Grudgingly I dragged myself out of bed and threw on a pair of shorts and followed the children downstairs to my fate.
As I entered the lounge I was once again treated to a chorus of Happy Father's Day and Daddy we love you's.
I snorted, I couldn't see any fancy bottles of whisky on display or guitar-shaped packages so they obviously didn't love me very much.
Look, we made you breakfast! Your favourite. Sausages and hash browns!
The Little Lady pulled me over to the table where I saw a plate festooned with half raw/half burnt sausage meat and some raw potato things.
Again, I wished we had a big hungry bastard of a dog. One of those ones that are essentially a bin on four legs that eats everything given to it even Mr Brains Faggots.
I kid you not
Oh wow, guys. You are spoiling me indeed. Let me grab a seat and tuck in!
I smiled a Fatherly love at my little cherubs who were leaping about with demented joy that they had managed to put some raw meat on a plate for him.
Maybe they thought I was the hungry dog?
I took a few bites of the sausages, trying my best to eat the burned bits and not the clammy-looking raw pink bits that reminded me of a bald man's sunburned head.
Mmmm, yummy. Thank you!
I rubbed my tummy as I had once seen Joey on Friends do when he was teaching an acting class.
And we made you a cake Daddy!!
They pulled me off my chair away from my plate of diarrhoea to be and hauled me into the kitchen.
The Good Lady was there too and I gave her one of my couldn't you have at least supervised the cooking of the fucking sausages looks.
She smiled back and gave me a big hug.
There Daddy, your cake. We made you it!
Both of the kids pointed excitedly at the exotic-looking traybake on the worktop.
Wow, that is quite the "cake."
It looked magic and it was a tray-bake so at least couldn't be raw. Then I noticed something.
Chaps... Did you put any baking paper in the tray?
Everyone in the kitchen looked at me, baffled.
We didn't actually bake it, Daddy!
The Little Boom laughed at Silly Daddy and they all joined in.
So no baking paper? Did you butter the sides of the tray?
I could tell from looking at it that they hadn't. The Traybake was solidly glued to the tray it had been made in.
Butter the sides? Ewww.
Everyone looked appalled at me as if I had suggested blogging on Steemit.
Is it not amazing, Daddy?
The Little Lady looked a little crestfallen.
I scooched down and pulled the pair of little bastards who couldn't cook to fucking save themselves in for a hug.
I love it guys. Now, quick. Dig out the spoons!
