Politics? Pah! Who cares about all that when Jordan has just split up with Alex
YOUR daughter has an encyclopedic brain for celebrity gossip. Elton John's baby? She had it, if not quite first, then right on the heels of the professional celebrity news-sharks.
Cheryl Cole's latest heartbreak? She's there at the dinner table, breaking the news as it happens, while digging into her baked potato.
Elton John's baby? Pshaw! She knew all about it almost before he did, if you'd only listened to her. Hey, it's your loss.
She's an expert on the white-water twists of Jordan's roller-coaster love life -- just plug in to the Wolverine and you'll get all the versions.
She knows who's struggling with their weight, how Sandra Bullock's doing after the traumatic split and what's the latest with Jen.
She has the inside track on which designer Michelle Obama favours, who's just got engaged to who in London and Hollywood, who's about to divorce who in London and Hollywood, not to mention who's secretly pregnant or merely thinking about it.
Mention a film and she'll tell you every main actor in it.
Mention a film star and she'll tell you every tiny detail of their love lives plus which films they appeared in.
You endure the avalanche of trivia until the RTE television news comes on and you realise with a jolt that she doesn't know Eamon Gilmore from Adam. Or Enda Kenny for that matter. Or what happened to Brian Cowen.
Who, you inquire, is the new leader of Fianna Fail? The question elicits an impatient toss of the head as she logs onto Facebook and barks at you to stop interrogating her. What party would she like to see in government following the election campaign?
Who cares, she says. You were given to understand that the Wolverine -- who in less than two years will automatically get the vote her female ancestors battled so hard to win -- was supposed to spend transition year getting the inside track on the political and social issues of the day.
Instead your daughter appears to have spent her time doing yoga, hip-hop, hand massage and occasionally helping to paint scenes on the windows of the local community hospital.
She tried to go to school the other day in a baggy, washed-out tracksuit bottom and lurid purple finger nails. Nobody would notice, she argues, as you send her back upstairs.
Of course somebody would notice, you insist. Every girl should wear her uniform with pride!
As she rolls her eyes, you realise what you've just said. You're not sure who you remind yourself of these days, but it sure isn't the person you thought you'd be.
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