The British Prime Minister, David Cameron, was recently embarrassed upon the revelation he had left his 8-year-old daughter behind after the family visited a pub. Apparently two of his children rode in one car with Cameron’s wife and his wife assumed the 8-year-old was riding in a second car with the Prime Minister.
You may be asking who do I think I am to judge the Prime Minister when I once left my kids behind at an old haunted house overnight? In my defense, that wasn’t because I forgot the kids, but was actually a calculated plan to help my children confront and overcome their fear of asbestos.
And I’m not actually here to judge the Prime Minister because his daughter obviously shoulders some of the blame since an 8-year-old’s chief responsibility is to be loud and demand attention, and if she was so easily forgotten she obviously wasn’t doing her job. Mrs. Greatsby and I could never leave our 8-year-old, The Fonz, behind because without him the sudden silence would set off alarm bells, like when you’re camping and the crickets suddenly stop chirping, and you realize a bear is about to charge or a pervert is filming you going to the bathroom.
When David Cameron faces reporters, I don’t think it will do him much good to defend himself. His best bet is to try and diffuse the situation with a joke:
At first I was worried I may have hurt her feelings until my advisers reminded me 8-year-olds can’t vote.
To make matters worse, I also forgot my iPad.
I’m not sure how I made it so far away from the pub without her; she was my designated driver.
For those of you that are glass-half-full types, let me point out I didn’t forget 66% of my children, so the glass is two-thirds full.
I explained to my daughter, Natalie, that the Prime Minister is a busy man and might occasionally forget something, and Naomi totally understood. Nadine knows I’m not perfect.
Actually, I didn’t forget her at all. When the bar tab came due I realized I had forgotten my wallet. The bartender said I could go home and get it but I needed to leave something behind as a deposit.
Here’s the good news: she made enough in tips to cover her own therapy.
It could have been worse; I could have left her behind in a pub in Sussex. Oh no he didn’t! Oh yes he did! Take that, Sussex!
I’m so relieved the press is focusing on the ‘left my 8-year-old daughter behind at a pub’ part of the story instead of the ‘took my 8-year-old daughter to a pub’ part of the story.
In my defense, isn’t that why most of us go to pubs–to forget we have kids?