YOU realise your partner’s dad is from a different generation with a different view of the world. But how the f**k did he come up with these impossible questions for you?
‘How much do you pay for petrol?’
You’re pretty certain it costs between £50 and £100 to fill up your car but a more precise answer is required. Your last visit to a petrol station strangely isn’t etched in your memory, so say something lamely humorous like ‘Ha, too much!’ Sharing a joke might stop him thinking you’re a feckless loser who’s brainwashed his beloved daughter into liking you. It probably won’t.
‘Where’s your stopcock?’
An obsession for ageing dads. You’re not totally sure of the location of yours, and you’re slightly disturbed by the fact that this is what he talks about for pleasure. Does he have any friends, or are they all the same? Do they spend entire nights in the pub discussing things like checking the batteries in their smoke alarms? It’s worryingly easy to visualise.
‘How long is the warranty on your fridge?’
Shit. There was definitely a piece of paper that came with the appliance. You vaguely remember feeling you should keep it safe and putting it in the kitchen drawer of important things, but it may now be in the same place as the user manual: the recycling bin. Just say ‘Two years’. If a man doesn’t know the duration of his fridge warranty, he’ll probably be a deadbeat dad always walking out on his wife and child.
‘Where’s the nearest Screwfix?’
You know about this! It’s the shop for men who do practical things! You’ve never actually bought a drill or a spirit level there but you can confidently say: ‘There’s one on the retail park.’ Or is it a B&Q? Will he know? Will he drive over there one day to check? He sounds interested enough.
‘What size engine is your lawnmower?’
You’re already in trouble because yours is an effeminate electric mower, not a masculine petrol one. And even then you’ve no idea about engines. Could you get away with saying 10cc or is that just a band? You don’t want to look like a hippy as well as someone who can’t meet his daughter’s lawncare needs.
‘What mortgage are you on?’
It’s on the tip of your tongue. It’s either fixed or variable and either three years or five years. Oh, and there’s a percentage involved as well. Christ you sound clueless, but you’ve come to accept that the only man good enough for his his precious daughter would just have inherited a 100-room mansion that comes with the baronetcy.
