Daddy Daughter Day

In order to justify the choice Saturday of a man - namely, to reside on the couch, sport on at least two screens whilst devoted 1950s style wife brings me an assortment of drinks and snacks - the modern man must accrue a brownie point or two first.

As such, Saturday mornings having become something of a Daddy Daughter tradition. And a fine tradition it is too, as they want to do at the moment is go out for coffee.  

One of the single best things about living in Argentina has to be the ways kids are welcomed everywhere they go. Your kids can do almost anything without attracting a negative comment. People understand that kids are volatile and loud; that babies cry, need attention, spill and break things. From your abuela having her morning cafe con leche to your business lunch, everyone indulges your cherubs.  

That said, one hates to take advantage, so we try not to hit anywhere more than two weeks in a row. That and the thinking that you score extra cute points through novelty value, which means scoring more free biscotti, medialunas and other such edible delights.  

Leah shows her experience, adopting cute sister pose on cue.

The girls are well up for this, and as a couple of chantas in the making, they have long since learnt that the bigger the eyes, the more free stuff you get. They even practice en route.

My standard order is the cafe con leche, Leah: the submarino. Maia is used as bait for medialunas, and, as an apprentice learning the ropes, has to fight for anything else she can get. Credit to her she's an absolute natural and at this rate she'll have her regular order too before she's even out of bibs.

FACT: The Bigger The Eyes: The More Free Stuff You Get

At the moment we're on a 50/50 success rate: we're paying for about 50% of the stuff that lands on the table. I don't even think of ordering medialunas anymore. That's like paying for ketchup in McDonalds.

All in all, it's a good ruse and long may it last. Given that Maia eats like a small horse, it's making solid financial sense too.

Plus, as a father, unless you are physically beating your child in the street for no obvious reason, people treat you like some sort of martyr/hero. All you need to do is show a rudimentary understanding of your kids' names and ages and you're gold. This is monumentally unfair on the mothers, but you take what you can get.

You're Round.

And we get a lot. Not to mention the satisfaction that brownie points are accruing the longer we are out. In synthesis, I'm on for a tennis and football marathon this avo. Vamos River! Vamos SW19!