I think my husband is having a mid-life crisis. He’s started talking about trading our Passat in for a sports car, has dyed his hair mahogany brown and has started wearing a leather jacket which he invariably rolls up at the sleeves, making him look like a twerp. Do you happen to know how I can get in touch with David Beckham so I can marry him instead?
It sounds like your husband is pretty embarrassing and uncool, just like my daddy. He always shows up early to pick me up from the school disco and tries to dance along to Dizzee Rascal in his slippers; looks down my teacher’s top at parents’ evening even though she’s 58 and has a limp; and we always come last in the three legged race on sports day because he’s eaten half a pork pie and a large scotch egg and drunk three pints of bitter in order to ‘get his fitness up’ before the event. Sometimes I wish I had a dad like David Beckham too, but that would mean my mum was Victoria Beckham and we’d only get cardboard for tea and we’d have to call Mel B ‘aunt Scary’ and play with her awful children with the silly names and every night we’d be made to sing along to Mama by the Spice Girls while mummy Victoria purged herself of that days’ food into a Hermes handbag.
Hope that helps!