ALL WEEK The Girl has been asking questions such as: “Have you got anything yellow that I can take with me?”
Or, “Do you know where my old school tie is?”
Her interest in packing for university seemed to be taking an unforeseen twist.
“What do you need something yellow for?” I wanted, not unreasonably, to know.
The information had to be extracted, but it turned out that her college colour is yellow and there’s a fresher’s event next week requiring a certain uniformity.
I dug out one of Firstborn’s old yellow (King’s House) rugby shirts, which was largely unworn and never came home dirty in five years of supposed rugby playing.
It was in pristine condition but was not to The Girl’s liking.
I tried again with his old athletics vest, also in mint condition. This seemed more the thing.
Her tie turned up in a drawer but I had already suspected what that was for.
“We’re all dressing as schoolgirls for a party,” said Secondborn.
But, of course, as of today, it’s nobody’s business but her own if she wants to be a naughty schoolgirl or run through the streets dressed as a Wally (there’s also a Where’s Wally party, for which she has bought a red and white striped top).
She is now her own person, freed from parental oppression and servitude.
We’ve done our bit, warned her about the evils of mixing drinks and staggering about late at night in darkened streets.
I have told her that a social life is good, but the prime purpose of university is education.
She’s heartily sick of hearing it all, I’m sure, but, as I have pointed out, it’s my job to worry and hers to grow up.
I’d like to say I’m not counting the days until the Christmas break, but it would be a lie.
