Keeping it in the family Part Two

Dad just came home from the pub, kicked one trainer into a corner and shouted "OY" at me.
"Oy yourself," I replied.
"You've gone and got me in trouble with your mum again," he barked. "She just shouted at me for calling you fat. I didn't call you fat. I said you needed to start jogging."
(Pause.)
"Is that different?"
"Oh God," he shouted, kicking the other trainer into another corner. "Women," he added elusively, and then he went upstairs; presumably to call mum and explain the difference between being fat and being wobbly. "If you're going to write that bloody thing, can you please make sure you don't say anything your mum can shout at me about?" he yelled down the stairs after a short silence, and then he turned the football on.

I've spent the last ten minutes in front of a mirror, grabbing handfuls of things that shouldn't be grabbable in handfuls, and I think he might actually have a point.

PS:on a slightly more worrying note, I just logged in to my Blog to find that somebody has HACKED INTO IT and written 'top 50 candidate for the best job in the world' in the title. I feel like I've just found a videocamera in my knicker drawer: who knows my password? I've left it there, obviously. If somebody wants so badly to tell the world this, then let them. (Mum, if it's you - if by some, strange, wondrous chance you have worked out how to use the internet properly - you're in serious trouble.)