Today B and I saw a squirrel’s nuts.
Yes, ha ha, I know what you’re thinking, they saw a cute squirrel carrying an acorn and he’s being fruity.
No people. They. Were. Testicles.
He and I were shown a picture of a male and female squirrel, whom I assume were married, by the woman leading the toddlers group. What crazy shit is this you may ask? I still do not understand. I’m still reeling.
Today was a “daddy day” and we went to a farm based toddler group that B has been to for the last couple of weeks with mummy. Today it was my turn.
Every week the kids learn about something farm related. It appears that next pissing week is pissing tractors. I got ruddy squirrels… who’s seen them commercially farmed before? Ridiculous. I’d leave Mrs DB for a Massey Ferguson 8700 with AGCO Power Shift. Curse my luck.
Now I, like most other people, have seen their fair share of squirrel porn but I didn’t expect to see it in an interactive group session surrounded by 3 year olds. The picture (I’ll spare you the gory details) showed two consenting squirrels (grey in case you were wondering, I’ve heard the red ones are much more demure) going at it like rabbits [I think I’m mixing my metaphors here…].
I happened to be the only daddy in the room. Apparently this wasn’t unusual. Apparently, the picture was included to demonstrate that male squirrels do nothing for their young other than a shortlived and ultimately regret and shame filled moment at their conception (if my experience is anything to go by). Cue, look to me, hint hint….
The mums in the group were lapping this up. Ha ha, all blokes are lazy and useless. Well, no sir-ee. Let’s leave our gender stereotypes in the 1970s ladies, this man once served Uncle Ben’s boil in the bag rice to guests. Guests! I know my way around the chores.
This incident, in itself was at the very least unsettling. Thank God B seemed to survive oblivious but not me. It was compounded by a collective ‘look/ snigger/ roll of the eyes’ at the news that the ram was so full of testosterone at the moment he was repeatedly banging his head on the gate to get to the ewes. WHY LOOK AT ME????? I’m Welsh but come on people. We’re not in Up Pompeii.
I desperately want to do as much stuff as possible with B but it felt like I was the first man these women had seen since they left their lazy husbands in bed as they left, after making his underpants and ironing his breakfast. It did nothing to encourage me back to this or other sessions.
They swiped my coffee cup for washing before I’d finished it for fear I didn’t know how to use a sponge. I don’t know whether dads get a bad name or whether dads need to do more for their kids. But people, we all need to change.
It’s bad enough the mums have this view of us but I certainly don’t want B thinking that he can be a lazy oik who doesn’t need to care for his kids or treat his family fairly. Our 3 year olds shouldn’t learn that daddies don’t care, don’t take care of them, don’t sing terrible terrible bastardised versions of nursery rhymes that make you wish the ground would open up.
I’m taking a stand here people. I’m donning my batman costume and scaling a tower block.
Fathers For Squirrel Justice.