Skip to main content

The Dubai Stereotypes Series: Desperate Dad

Desperate Dad, or DD as we'll call him (for the sake of convenience) is a sorry excuse for a man. A peacock who lost his glorious plumage many moons ago, he persists in proudly striding through the school corridors with the confident strut of a much younger fellow.

DDs burgeoning beer belly signals his approach, a prompt for the more attractive school mums to roll their eyes at each other before pasting on their most polite smiles. DD fondly imagines them to be half in love with his overwhelming masculinity and man-of-the-world demeanor; after all, don't women all secretly adore an older, more experienced chap who could treat them as a lady should be treated? (Look at Sean Connery - the man qualifies for a free bus pass and he's still beating them off with a stick!)

DD leans against the classroom door every morning, keeping one eye on Junior whilst stroking his balding pate in a way in which he fondly imagines makes him look both thoughtful and mysterious, the other eye engaged in surreptitiously checking out the winsome rear ends of the passing mothers. He's especially fond of a trim ankle and, by golly, these expat women certainly know how to make the best of themselves!

He thinks fondly of his first wife, Deidre, who was a bit of a looker in her day. But the passing of time was not kind to Deidre, he regretfully ponders, hence her speedy departure and replacement by the lissom Lalana (although, he grumbles to himself, Lalana's recent incessant demands for gifts from the Diamond Souk have made her much less of the young innocent she initially appeared to be, plus her home-made apple crumble simply isn't a patch on Deidre's).

Desperate Dad, poor man. A legend in his own lunchtime. A joke of his own making, yet he simply doesn't get the punchline...

Most likely to say: "Ladies! Hello! Looking as lovely as ever today, I must say. Indeed, a veritable feast for a starving man's eyes! Now, what's this I hear about an end of term outing to Ladies Night at the Westin next Tuesday?"
Least likely to say: "I'm really just a deeply insecure old rogue who chases women for the gratification of my own ego. My shrink and I are working it through, so there's hope for me yet."

Comments

Anonymous said…
Deidre had a lucky escape!
Anonymous said…
Don't we all love a rogue though? Maybe not old ones with beer bellies!

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...