PooterGeek

From The Motley Fool:

My 8-year old daughter enters the room.

Millie: Aww, football?! Football is such rubbish.

As the daughter of a life-long Saints supporter she has a point.

Me: That’s true, but it’s not on for long.

A lump of sulk flops down next to me. I try to remember why other teams seem to pass the round white thing on the flat green stuff. I can’t remember. Suddenly the lump of sulk sits bolt upright.

Millie: Daddy, who’s the team playing in silver?

Me: Silver?! Oh, that’s Liverpool.

Millie: They’ve got a girl playing for them!

For a moment I feel like I’ve been transported back to St Mary’s but then I realise it’s not meant as an insult.

Me: A girl? What?

Millie: Look, there, she’s got blonde hair and she’s wearing an alice band!

Me: That’s not a girl, sweetie.

Millie: Men don’t wear alice bands!

Me: Well, actually…

Torres scores - 1-1.

Millie: Look! All the men are trying to cuddle her now, eeewwwww.

Me: No, that’s cos she, I mean HE, just scored a goal.

Millie: They’re cuddling each other because she scored a goal? Oh yuck, that one just kissed her!

Me: She’s not a girl, she’s a bloke!

Millie: Why don’t they just shake hands or something then?

Me: Well, I, errr… I don’t know, they prefer to cuddle, I mean hug… you know what I mean!

Millie: Daddy?

Me: Yes sweetie?

Millie: Do you cuddle people in your team at work when you do something good?

Me: No!

Pause.

Millie: I bet you’d cuddle her if she was in your team.

Me: She is a he! Her name, HIS name, is Fernando Torres.

Millie: Fernando?! Is he the one ABBA sing about?

Me: No, I don’t think ABBA sing any songs about football…

Millie: Pffff, football is such rubbish.

My 8-year old daughter leaves the room.