My daughter is now 13. You can tell this by the way she presents herself for dinner at a restaurant wearing red and black striped fingerless gloves, a black puffball skirt and tights, a t-shirt that’s the dilute 2008 iteration of an idea Vivienne Westwood scrawled on the back of a fag packet in 1976, and a pair of boots that appear to have been fashioned from the hollowed-out legs of a particularly unfortunate black bear. Also, by the way I’ve gone from being called “daddy” to being called “shut up, Ellis.”
I’m loving every minute of it.
Also, due to some fluke in their protection, her school’s web connection can access this website. (Yeah. I know, right?) So, one day soon, Lili or her friends will find this post.
Lili, you are an annoying toad with a mutant power for belching loud enough to set off car alarms in the next street.
I love you, little angel.
Her life will be HELL when they find this…
See? Despite all the cynical, nasty facade, he's just a lovely daddy underneath.