There’s something about him.
I’m sure he’s really nice. He seems really nice. But there’s just something about my daughter’s friend’s Dad that makes me uncomfortable. It’s hard to put my finger on, but I can’t shake it, either.
“She’s a bit young for that,” I said. “And her little sister would miss her too much.”
And we left it at that.
But since then, my daughter and this man’s daughter have become almost inseparable friends at school. And they want to play every spare moment they get at the weekend.
We live in a social neighbourhood. It’s always the same people we see at the park, at the cafe, at the local beer garden on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The girls play together, us parents chat. Community, it’s lovely.
Anna and her new best friend were both invited to a sleepover birthday party last month. They both went. I forgot my white lie about her age. I knew the parents and the house she was going to really well. I knew they’d be completely fine there.
But now that sleepover has opened a can of worms.
My daughter asks me all the time, “Can Alice (not her real name) come and stay? Can I go and stay at her house?”