Extreme Dad: An Englishman's home is (not) his castle

Car_wash_01 We have a guy,'Bob', who comes round to wash our car every week. Now Bob's a nice guy and he charges us pennies for toiling away in the hot sun and removing a week's worth of toddler debris and half of the Caribbean's beaches from the back seats. The problem is, Bob bangs on the door every 5 minutes asking for more soap, water, new rags, to use the phone, go to the toilet, read my books, watch my DVDs, borrow my wife and so on, and so on, ad infinitum. Now, perhaps I'm being uncharitable, but on Sunday, the day after my hikeathon, I simply couldn't be bothered to get up from my armchair every three minutes for an hour to face his requests. Add to this the fact that I was wearing only my underwear. As is my wont (because it's damn hot here). So when Bob knocked politely on the door, I quickly turned the TV down and ignored him. I then smugly sank back into my armchair thinking he would politely disappear when he was suckered into thinking no-one was at home.

Mistake number one: I should have realised by now that one of Bob's more admirable traits is perseverance. He's a firm proponent of Hickson's maxim, "If at first you don't succeed..."

Mistake number two: I had taught Max how to answer the door last week.

The next farcical ten minutes went something like this:

[Polite knocks quickly escalate to banging]
Max: "Daddy..."
Me: "Ssssshhhhhhhh...."
Max: "DADDY....!"
[Banging stops; Bob's smelt a rat]
[Banging resumes and increases exponentially. Bob's breached the moat and and has deployed the battering ram]
Max waves bye bye Barney and makes for the front door in slow motion.
Me: Much flapping of arms and silent mouthing of "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Max: The look says it all. What's your problem Daddy? We always open the door when someone knocks.

I'm powerless to stop him because I'm crippled from yesterday's stroll. Max reaches for the door handle and I have two choices:

1. Stay seated, in my underwear, and face the music (Bob will be able to see me from the front door).
2. Hide.

I quickly decide on option 2 and crawl into the alcove under the stairs. The banging stops as the door creaks open.

Bob: "Hello. Where's Daddy?"
Max: "...." (Oh, now you've lost your voice, you little tyke...?)
Bob: "Hello! HELLO! HEEEEEEEEEEELOOOOOOOOOO!"

I'm now in a classic Catch 22 situation. If I reveal myself, Bob will know I've been hiding from him. If I don't reveal myself, Bob will join the rest of the neighbourhood in thinking we're neglectful parents because we leave our 2 and 1 year olds to fend for themselves. As I'm trying to come to terms with my predicament and think of a cunning way to extricate myself from it, Max quickly rules out the neglectful parent option. He comes back down the hall and he looks from Bob, to me and back to Bob. And then the finger of God rises and Max points towards my hiding place. Rumbled.

Out I crawl. Bob has a victorious smile on his face.

Me: "I was, er, just looking for Max's playdoh..."
Bob: "Want your car washed?"
Me: "I'll just get the bucket for you."

Comments

How funny is that!!! I honestly cry with laughter every time I read this!!!!!

Posted by: Fee | 01 June 2006 at 02:01 PM

Oh, you are so funny!!
And I feel ever so much less ridiculous, now, about crouching breathless on the floor of my enclosed front verandah as a certain garrulous neighbour (in desperate need of a fulfilling hobby) strolled back and forth on the sidewalk past my house, glancing toward our windows with hope in his eye...

Posted by: Jen | 05 June 2006 at 07:04 AM