“What’s my birthday?” Miss7 asked us.
It’s not like she didn’t know, but Tracey and I had somehow been roped into a head to head quiz where the kids asked the questions and I got to feel dumb.
Not only that, but by the end of it I think my kids were seriously questioning the intelligence of their father as well. I certainly know Miss7 was.
Once again, Tracey was all over it. I mean, it’s not like I don’t know my own kids’ birthdays but it usually takes me a few seconds to run through them and sort out whose is whose.
“What’s my birthday?” asked Master9.
I saw that one coming, so I blurted out the answer.
“Mum’s score is seven and you’re two, Dad. You’re losing,” said Masterstatethebloodyobvious9.
“What’s my favourite colour?” asked Miss10.
“Blue. Yellow,” I blurted.
“Green,” said Tracey.
“Which is blue and yellow mixed together!” I protested. “My point.”
No, it wasn’t. Eight-two.
“Who does Mr Wilson go for in the State of Origin?” asked Master9.
“NSW!” I shouted. I figured I had a fifty-fifty on that one.
“What does Mr Wilson teach?” grinned Tracey.
“Umm…” I stammered. Then an answer came to me in a flash of brilliance. “I’m not answering that because you’re not allowed to ask the questions,” I told her.
“What does Mr Wilson teach?” asked Master9.
The best I could say for my side of the scoreboard was that I was saving ink.
“I’ll help you, Daddy,” whispered Miss7.
Her mother was one point off taking out the championship and I guess she was feeling sorry for her dim, old father. She revealed just how dumb she now thought I was when she quietly fielded her suggestion at a question geared towards what she figured were my strengths – banking, or more specifically, numbers.
She leaned in and cupped a hand over my ear, whispering, “Do you know what one plus one equals?”
The final score was ten to four – loser to forfeit his pride.
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