You know those days that just sort of breeze past, I like to think of them as 'Dining Table Days'. Mostly because you wake up, then you are sitting at the table eating dinner.
Nothing happens, the day just disappears and you realise that it's nearly over. The day this story starts wasn't a Dining Table Day, it was something else entirely.
I woke up, slowly, it as a Saturday. No one likes to get up early on a Saturday, and when you are married and have a child who doesn't play Saturday morning sport, slow wake up are a priority.
The wife decided she was going to head out early to meet friends and left before my daughter was awake.
I dragged myself downstairs for coffee and didn't expect to see or hear anything from her until midday. So, when, "Help! Mum! I need you!" was yelled from her bedroom, I was shocked and worried.
Running through the house I didn't stop to think, "Why did she just call for her mother?" If I had, then this Saturday would have been a Dining Table Day.
Throwing open the door I looked around for my 19-year-old daughter, "Nancy, what's wrong?" I called into the room. "Dad? Where's Mum?" came the reply from the side of the bed.
I still couldn't see her so I walked around the side to see what was wrong. Big mistake. My quiet, bookish daughter was on her hands and knees with a vibrator.
"Jesus, Nancy! I mean. Sorry. I'll leave you alone. Fuck..." I said, trying not to look at the writhing girl on the ground.
"Sorry dad. I fell off the bed and didn't know what to do. That's why I called mum, it wouldn't be as awkward then," she said. Nodding while looking at the ceiling, "Why did you need your mother? Have you broken something?" I asked. She grunted, hopefully in pain, terrible father. "I don't know, I think I tweaked my back, I can't move..." she said.
"Ok... well, what can I do?" I asked, continuing to stare at the ceiling.
She sighed, "I need you to take it out... and help me back on the bed," she said, "I'm sorry dad, I didn't want you to see me like this." She seemed to be on the verge of tears.
I can do this, I'm just helping my daughter... just don't think about it... it's like she's got a... a really big, pink, vibrating splinter.
"Oh, and dad," she started.
"Yes...?" I replied. "Don't move it to much... I'm really, really close," she said, going scarlet. "Jesus, Nancy! No more talking alright? Let's just get this done and never talk about it again. Please?" I said.