We all went to the horse shop last Saturday, CC1, CC2 and me. I say ‘we went’ as if it was a kind of family outing, but in reality it was the two of them and my credit card that went; they just needed me to operate the car. But I went inside with them anyway; I said it was because they also had guns and shit in the shop so I could fantasise about checking out early, but in reality I just wanted to grimace at the prices and keep a beady eye on them with my card.
There was a display in there by some bloke called Sam who sells nag hats. He’s got a nerve, I tell you. I haven’t just owned cars that cost less than some of those hats, I think I’ve lived in houses that cost less. But these are the object of CC2’s hopes, dreams and desires apparently. And no, dear reader, that doesn’t mean I sanctioned a purchase or anything. I like watching her face full of disappointment sometimes, just a little.
I shit you not, she actually started following me around the shop, whispering the name of the hat brand at my shoulder repeatedly, to try and convince me subconsciously. It was like some kind of horror film, or a nightmare where you wake up and find someone’s drained your bank account to spend on matchy matchy shit.
I’ve just checked out Sam’s website and there’s a full-on hat configurator where you can decide what kind of endangered creature’s skin you want to drape over the top, and whether you want crystals encrusted all over. It’s like a cross between Porsche’s website and that shop with all the ice cream toppings. To be honest, I’m not sure whether to be appalled or to show begrudging respect, though I think it’s somewhere in the middle.
CC2 eventually turned to me, with her big tear-filled eyes and asked me to buy her one of Sam’s hats. For the record, I don’t mean to suggest that she was actually crying. I’m just pointing out that she’s spent hours in front of the mirror, practising how not to blink for 5 minutes in advance of walking into horse shops. You don’t know her, but trust me… she’d steal your kitten, your family jewels and your Take That CDs and sell them to gypsies in a millisecond if she thought she’d get the cash for some matchy matchy shit and get away with it. And then she’d do that no-blinking thing on you when you confronted her.
Anyway, naturally I said no. (See above about the disappointment thing). And then she asked me how much her head was worth! Unbelievable! What a low blow!
So of course I did what any loving father would do. I did the maths. I set up a spreadsheet on my phone and plotted the Total Cost of Ownership (CC2’s, not the hat), her depreciation, potential revenue from all future prancing and charted it all against the cost of a carbonfibre horse hat with panda-skin trim and a sprinkling of Oreo biscuit crumbs, and I have to tell you… it didn’t look good. So I had to break it to her that basic maths dictated her head was worth around £254, and that just wasn’t going to justify a new hat.
So, we bought her a new horse stick, a lump of salt in rainbow colours for the nag (WTF?) and something else that I didn’t understand. It could’ve been a lot worse, but it was enough for my fingers to quiver slightly over the card machine as I tapped in my PIN.
I love CC2, I really do. She’s everything to me. Just not, y’know, actually everything. It’s like that slogan for face gunk – “You’re worth it!” Well, turns out… not every time, sister.