'I could almost see the 18-year-olds they will one day become'
The unimaginable horror that awaits me in years to come has just fully dawned.
As a father to two small, (occasionally) cherubic little girls I know that, as sure as eggs is eggs, one day they'll turn into their mother – a gin-swigging desperate housewife who spends half her time gossiping with her friends and the other half spending money we haven't got on dresses she doesn't need.
But I sort of assumed that I'd be safe for at least another few years.
At the moment, aged six and four, my two Oompa-Loompas are still in the roister-doister stage where they like climbing trees, singing songs about poo and whacking each other over the head with the nearest non-fatal implement.
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Although they're fully committed to execrable Barbie DVDs, with dreadful, plot-hole heavy stories about rock star princesses, and pink My Little Ponies, they're showing few signs of being girly girls at the moment.
My youngest, Tilly likes playing football in the back garden and scrabbling around in the dirt, looking at worms, which pretty much puts her in the tomboy camp.
Not yet for my two the lure of nail varnish and Louboutin high heels.
Or, at least, that's what I thought.
After investing in a pair of matching, glittery frocks for a Christening do we were invited to last week, the wife decided to go the whole hog and buy them some sparkly shoes to complete the outfit.
Sort of a cross between a pair of ballet pumps and the ruby red slippers from The Wizard Of Oz – only with less Wicked Witch crushing potential – my blokey reaction to the new acquisition was a slightly disinterested shrug before moving on with my life.
Shoes is shoes is shoes as far as I'm concerned. But you should've seen my girls' reaction when I opened up the shopping bag to reveal their new gleaming footwear.
It was like I'd just revealed to them the directions to Atlantis and the truth behind the Kennedy assassination engraved on a two gold bars nestled in a sackful or 24ct diamonds.
The words "oooohh, ahhhh" don't quite do it justice.
Honestly, their greedy gimlet eyes were so shot through with avarice they almost had little pound signs popping up.
"Ooooooh, shoooooooes" is what they said next.
Now, that's the sort of reaction I expect from the wife or any adult female who, as far as I can tell, all seemed to have been inducted into the cult of foot fetishism as soon as they turned 16.
But to get this reaction from a four and six-year-old was deeply worrying.
I could almost see the 18-year-olds they will one day become, demanding to be driven to the pub wearing something I'm not going to let them out of the house in and eyeliner Lily Savage wouldn't be seen dead in.
But what can you do? You can't stop time. But for the foreseeable future I think we'll stick with trainers and school plimsolls.
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