“Have you washed your hands?”
Without warning, two damp palms are thrust towards my nose. I smell them suspiciously.
“That one doesn’t smell of soap”.
“Daddy your nose isn’t very good at smelling. I think it’s because you get hay-fever. And because you have lots of hair in your nose”.
I am somewhat winded by my eldest daughter’s observation. She, naturally, is oblivious to this.
“Daddy why do you get hair in your nose?” It’s a question I’ve raised myself, in more plaintive moments.
“Just… Daddies sometimes have hair in their noses, petal”.
I fix my best rictus grin and hand her her junior toothbrush.
To have children is to subscribe to mild humiliation on a continuous basis. This much I know.