My party face paint low-point (From Bradford Telegraph and Argus)

My party face paint low-point

10:42am Thursday 9th September 2010 in Columnists By Alan Molineaux

There are many things that are thrust upon an unsuspecting dad over the years. Most of them revolve around emptying your pockets of money at school events, or driving your children to their friends’ houses for sleepovers; only to return half an hour later with all the things they have forgotten to take.

The most embarrassing moments tend to be set in the noise-filled environment of birthday parties.

Gone are the days when dads would escape to the pub during the festivities, only to return when they had been sufficiently numbed against the smell of jelly and the sound of Agadoo; it seems that jam sponge is excellent at dealing with the hunger that develops after a few pints of Best.

My personal low point was at the ninth birthday of daughter number three. My wife had spent a small fortune on face paints after seeing happy children walking around as butterflies and lions at a village fete.

She ignored my pleading for helium-filled balloons, saying that the party was for the children, not for big kids. What is more fun than speaking in a high-pitched voice and singing like Barry Gibb?

Most of the morning was filled with sandwich-making, knowing full well that they would be dumped into a bin liner with the paper plates at the end of the evening.

It never ceases to amaze me that we fill several large tables with party food and all kids want to eat is crispy snacks that seem to be made out of polystyrene covered in unnatural colouring.

In order to ensure that we took revenge on the parents who had inflicted us with their children, we prepared party bags full of noise-making objects and hyperactivity-inducing, chocolate-flavoured sweets.

After spending an eternity getting the three-bulb disco lights to work in time with the music, my dear lady had convinced me that I was suitably creative enough to be in charge of all things face and paint-related.

Daughter number two, who at the time was 11, wanted to have Manchester United colours with the words ‘I love Hibby’ emblazoned on her face, in tribute to an 11-year-old boy called Matthew Hibbert; it seems he was worth the effort, so I obliged, but was determined to ask more questions about his character later on.

I am not sure what chemicals were included in the face paint mixture, but my daughter’s skin started to react and she soon had to wash off my skilful artwork.

Unfortunately for her, there remained a clearly visible outline of my handiwork for several days after; even though she had now stopped having feelings for Master Hibbert.