This is how sad we are right now. We are sitting at our desks, facing each other, typing on our respective computers.

“More wine”, I say, “Your turn.”

“No”, says The Daddy, “I’m good.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, “obviously not loving me.”

“You may have similar genetic makeup,” says The Daddy, “but you are not Dido. I am watching Dido. ”

(Here we go again)

Me: “Yes, but Dido’s soulless”.

Him: “If by soulless you mean perfect.”

I have a lot to live up to. My husband is in love with Dido, and he would totally marry her if he wasn’t already married to me. What? Of course she would have him. All women want him. After all, he once saw Linda Evangelista  as he walked past a photo shoot and she totally gave him the eye.

Me: “Are you sure she wasn’t posing?”

Him: “No, she wanted me”.

So, Dido. he is watching her in concert right now. She has no faults.

Him: “Dido wouldn’t leave loading the dishwasher until 4pm … Also Dido wouldn’t be in a bad mood when I got home from work. She would waft up to me wearing something light and floaty and rub my feet while crooning a love song”.

Me: “Yes but Dido has no children. Children, as you know, are a distraction. ”

Him: “Well, she just hasn’t found the right man yet. She would have lots of children with me.”

I resist the urge to remind him that he used to call Dido dildo. (Am I allowed to say that on public internet?). Until one day he saw this concert. And in the intervening years, he has shown this concert to every male friend who has ever expressed reservations about Dido’s (ahem) music. And I swear that every single one has been converted.

Him: “Those shorts? Make your backside look huge. Dido would never wear those. Well, you did ask me”.

And they say romance is dead.

Back to Dido. She does have one failing. She gets her hair cut (probably at £300 a time, but I digress…).

And The Daddy doesn’t find short(er) hair attractive.

Me: “Dido doesn’t have long hair…”

Him: “She’s allowed not to. But only because she is Dido“.

(Sigh)