daddy’s little girl

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My father is ace.  That’s it! I really don’t need to write anymore because that short, sharp sentence captures all I need to say; however, for those of you who know me well, you know how much I love to tell a story!  So, with you in mind, I will continue … Family crabb moved house a couple of months ago.  Moving house is stressful;  moving house with a baby is even more stressful and there is always a list of jobs to do.  I like writing lists; I like writing lists of things to do, I think it makes me feel busy (not that I’m not busy, but a list of jobs makes me feel busy and organised and being organised is important).  I like writing list so much that sometimes I write things on my list that I’ve actually already done just so I can put a clean, neat line through them.  Satisfaction,  that is what that gives me.  Satisfaction that I’ve completed another job; I’m one job closer to the finish line – but there is never really a finish line in a busy life is there?

Most of these (little?) lists are compiled with jobs I can do myself,  but sometimes, on the very odd occasion (well I use the term ‘odd’ rather loosely here) I need to call in extra help.  This help inevitably comes in the form of my daddy, my wonderful daddy and his tool box!

“Hi dad.” I say.

“Hi darling.” Dad says.

“So, I just wondered if you’ve got a minute to come and do a job for me please.” I say. “Sure, what are the jobs that need doing?” Dad says.

“Well ……….” I say.

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Job number one was to put up my new light fittings.  They are the kind of  light fittings that look amazing but are not so amazing to put up.  After a bit of huffing and puffing and a few unsavoury words, the first fitting was up.  I’ve always thought I’m rather like my father, I’m obsessive and particular, but as I was balancing on the back of the sofa holding the light fitting with one hand,  pliers in the other as dad balanced (slightly more precariously than me) on the chair with screwdriver in one hand and screw in the other,  it hit me: I most certainly am my father’s daughter.

This light fitting was a tough customer and certainly wasn’t just going to be hung in its new house without a fight.  The screw that came with the fitting was just too small.  Again, after a bit of huffing and puffing and a few unsavoury words,  we decided to make the job easier and use a longer screw from dads tool box.  Job done!  Oh no, not in the eyes of a perfectionist!   The longer screw we had used was silver, the smaller screw we had discarded was the same colour as the light fitting.  It was sat, like an imposter, laughing down at us.

“Everyone in the entire universe is going to walk into this room and notice me in all my 3mm in diameter silver screw glory.”  The screw said.

“It has to go.”  Dad and I said.  (None of us actually said any of these things, there was just a common understanding of what would have been said if we lived in a world where silver screws could talk)

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So, it was at that moment that I thought to myself, yes I really am my father’s daughter; I’m actually just as obsessive and particular.  I haven’t learnt this behaviour, it’s innate and I’m not sure if that troubled or delighted me.  But then I figured if my dad is so ace, clever,  gifted and all the rest …… surely some of that must have rubbed off on me too!?

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