‘You want to do what to my bathtub?’ I said, putting my hands on my hips as I glared sternly at my two children.
‘It’s not a big deal, Dad,’ Sarah said, trying to smile pleasantly but looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. ‘We just need to start being a little more careful, that’s all.’
‘Careful?’ I frowned. ‘I am careful!’
‘You broke your hip last year!’ David exclaimed. ‘You’re fragile now!’
‘No,’ I said, tapping my hip so they could hear the metallic ting my new hip made. ‘I used to be fragile. Now I’m a cyborg.’
‘Look, Dad,’ Sarah said, quickly trying to shift the conversation. ‘We just want to find a company specialising in bath tub conversions in the Sydney CBD, just to hear what they have to say.’
‘But I don’t care what they have to say,’ I told her. ‘I’m perfectly happy with my non-mutilated bathtub, thank you very much.’
‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ David rolled his eyes.
‘Is it, David?’ I said. ‘Is it?!’
‘Yes.’
‘Agree to disagree.’
‘Your doctor said—’ Sarah valiantly tried to step in.
‘He says all sorts of nonsense,’ I cut her off. ‘I find it’s best to tune him out when he gets all preachy like that.’
‘He said that a bath tub cut out, for elderly people, is a perfectly normal safety precaution that can help you every day—’
‘Oh, please,’ I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m not an elderly person.’
‘You’re 75!’ David exclaimed.
‘And I don’t feel a day over 40,’ I whistled.
‘Remind me,’ David went on, ‘how many of your bones have been replaced with metal?’
‘Stop it!’ Sarah shouted, upset. ‘Both of you!’
‘He started it,’ I pointed.
‘Very mature,’ David said.
‘I told you to stop calling me old!’
Sarah let out an exasperated groan and stormed over to the kitchen table, grabbing her bag and keys.
‘I’m going home to see my actual children!’ she said, shaking her head as she left.