“Mummy my darling,” my two-year-old turns to me, “were you and Daddy cool before you became parents?”
I stop scraping patinated shite off the floorboards with a Baby Wipe as I pause to consider the question.
“Cooooool…well, yes, I think we were. Daddy grew this beard once. He was a hipster you know.”
Magoo rolls her eyes as the youth often do these days, but I’m unperturbed.
“And every Saturday, we’d go out for lattes….and………”
Another memory quivers deep inside my mind.
“Nope it’s gone,” I sigh.
“Well I still think you’re cool Mummy,” Magoo laughs (with what I detect is a hint of sarcasm) and goes off to ride her hover-board.
Yesterday, the fact that the Super Defacto and I are decidedly not cool any more (at least outside of our own minds) was made painfully plain when we ventured into a nearby hipster suburb to vote.
We queue up in the Town Hall.
A young couple wearing space suits are pashing each other in the line behind us and an old dude on a tightrope looks at us strangely.
Suddenly, Magoo shrieks, “BUMMMMM. Itchy BUMMMMM!” and starts wildly searching down the back of her nappy for the source of the itch.
The tightrope walker wobbles.
I realise that the leggings that Magoo is wearing are causing her to overheat, and thus to itch.
There is nothing for it but to whip them off in full public view.
Her moon boots come off, her socks come off, and her feet touch the cold slate of the Town Hall floor.
“Colllllllldddd!” she wails, thrashing her legs around.
A nearby monkey blinks.
The Super Defacto shrinks away as the queue moves forward.
“Daddddddyyyyyy!!” Magoo screams, and he blushes.
But in a Mummy Nanosecond (that’s 1287298234873 times less than a normal nanosecond because our danger/snack reflexes are so quick) I have leggings off and socks and shoes reinstated.
Fuck I’m cool.
And so is Super Defacto.
“This wouldn’t have happened under the One Alien Party,” he jokes wryly with the bearded chimney-sweep in front of us, who clearly doesn’t get it.
And that’s why, thanks to us, the cool people have Dad jokes to mock.
Are you cool? How do you do it? Let me know!
 Poetic license. Her actual words were: “Mummy. Have bread stick?!”