To Daddy Pig, on Father's Day.


To the one and only- Daddy Pig,

My son is 2 and a half years old (human years, not sure what that equates to in pig years, and certainly not a clue what that is in animated pig years) and ever since my son laid his eyes on you, he has loved you. And I mean,he really loves you. In fact, he talks about you at least a few times each day and I'm beginning to wonder if, maybe he thinks you're his dad. 

You see, Daddy Pig, my son- Etienne, doesn't have his daddy in his life and as his two year old curiosity is beginning to blossom, he's beginning to wonder why lots of children have daddies and why there's been no mention of his. So, whilst using his toddler logic, I'm fairly sure that he's come to the conclusion that you must be his dad. I mean, he sees you fairly regularly; you're in every supermarket and book shop- your face is even on our plasters in the First Aid box. So, he wouldn't be wrong to assume that you're the main man in his life, would he?

Now, I'm cool with this (at least for now) BUT , for starters, you're going to need to embark on some sort of self-development regime. I mean, you have got to stop scoffing that chocolate cake. I've heard Peppa mocking you for your "big tummy" and to be fair to the girl, though she might be persistently rude, she has a point. I'm trying to teach my son about healthy eating and that he must eat his meals before he can have pudding. And frankly, you're not setting a great example. 

You wouldn't believe the amount of conversations we have about you. Honestly, the amount of times I've had to really pick my brains to figure out what on earth my son is going on about as he recites the same sentence over and over and over again. Turned out, he was quoting you. Pretty much every time!

Not so long ago, he spent a whole week of his little life repeating "daddy dropped the keys down the drain!" to which, I hadn't a clue how to respond other than with a half hearted and slightly confused "ohhh realllllyyyyyy?" since I believed he was simply creating made-up stories about imaginary people (as toddlers do)- until- I discovered (when I Googled it- good old Google) that in fact, you had dropped your keys down the drain once before!

 It's safe to say you're a clumsy idiot, or as Mummy pig would say "silly daddy!" 

Actually, why are you so silly? I mean, your family seem to call you out on your stupidity fairly regularly,but I heard through the grapevine that you're actually an architect so, surely, you can't really be so dopey, can you? 

Seriously, there's a whole episode just about you losing your own glasses. I can't believe you sent Mummy Pig and the littlies off to find them, only to discover you'd been sitting on them all along. Not your finest moment, was it, Daddy Pig? I saw you blushing. To be fair I didn't even know pigs could blush. Does that make me stupid, too?

Is it all a front, Daddy Pig? Do you act silly because you lack social skills? Do you suffer from baby brain? Or is Peppa simply so irritating that she's killed a few brain cells of yours by her constant whining? Are you, in fact, intimidated by Peppa because she's so damn bossy? Do you keep your mouth shut to avoid being corrected by that little know-it-all? You're a man of few words, aren't you, Daddy Pig?

Now, Daddy Pig, I like you, I really do- but, if you're going to represent a father figure and some kind of inspirational man/pig in my toddlers world, then you're going to need to reconsider some of your bad habits and I'm going to need to pick a few bones with you about your attitude.

Let's face it, on the whole, you are a marginally obese (which confirms the need to stop scoffing the cake,) lazy, couch potato. I realise that you're a pig and that generally, pigs do little more than eat and laze about, but come on Daddy Pig, your wife is also one of the rounded, pink, smelly kind and yet she seems to run your house (alongside Peppa, of course) whilst you sit in your armchair reading the local newspaper. FYI: I think you're starting to outgrow the armchair- a sure sign that something needs to change, don't you think?

Do you not fancy getting up off your backside every once in a while to offer some help in the kitchen? I know Mummy Pig hides it well, but I can see that she is stressed and on the brink of telling you to pack a bag and stay at your mums for the weekend (wait, where are your parents? Peppa and George only have one set of grandparents, did you have a huge family bust up years ago? You can talk to me, Daddy Pig. I've judged you on a lot of factors but I promise this won't be one of them.)

 Not to mention the fact that your precious little Peppa needs some talking to; she ought to learn a thing or two about sharing and perhaps how to not be such a total arse to George and her friends. God knows how Suzie puts up with her. I don't know why you let her get away with that attitude, I certainly wouldn't if she was my child (or would she be my pet rather than child?) Where's your parental responsibility, Daddy Pig? No wonder George is such a cry baby.

Anyway, I've also noticed that you're incapable of reading a map, terrible on the BBQ (not literally on the BBQ- sorry if I've offended you or any of your porky pals with that comment) and that you are absolutely the clumsiest person I've ever witnessed.

I'll be honest, I don't know much more about you, since your usual appearance in our home is at 5am whilst I'm still half asleep and Etienne is watching your family on a never-ending YouTube compilation on my phone, and mostly- all I hear is the hideous sound of The Bing-Bong Song, but I do occasionally hear you and my overall judgement is that you're either plain lazy or fed up. Or both. 

"What a perfect day for doing nothing!" 


Now, I'm all for doing "nothing", but my version of doing nothing still includes paying attention to my child and, you know, just generally being a parent and keeping half an eye on what my son is up to. But when you made that comment about doing nothing, what you actually meant to say was :

"What a perfect day to sit on my pink derrière (again) and watch my wife continuously pull the hyper-active children out of muddy puddles whilst I snore (oh wait, you're a pig, I'll let you off) in the sunshine and ignore Mummy Pig's attempts to juggle working from home,the dinner, the chocolate cake I'm about to pig out on (literally) and the mud-splattered children."

I blame you. I blame you when Etienne thinks it's okay to jump through muddy puddles without his wellies on- he learnt this from your obnoxious,rebellious children. Do you have anything to say about that?

I've always insisted that any man in my son's life would need to be a good enough role model; someone he can aspire to become. A strong, male influence. I stand by this, and I am keen to see some improvements from you, Daddy Pig. 

So please, since you're likely to be gracing us with your presence for the foreseeable future, for the sake of my son (and every other Daddy Pig fan out there, and I believe there's quite a few)...

SORT IT OUT.

Anyway, since I've said enough already and have probably wounded your ego a little too much, I'd like to say thanks for being there in times of need (like that one evening when nothing could sway Etienne to get in the bath, except those ten perfect words: "Do you want to take Daddy Pig in the bath?" It worked a treat! I owe you for that one.)

I suppose- you're not all bad, I'm sure you have a good heart and Etienne adores you so, what I'm really trying to say, in a round about way, is;

Happy Father's Day, Daddy Pig!

Best wishes,

Etienne's mummy.



PS. You should probably have a shave, the beard's not going too well for you, is it?



Rhyming with Wine