About twelve years ago we went for a week’s cruise with a whole bunch of Hornswood friends and all of our kids. One night, about two in the morning when all the children and most the wives were in bed, a mate and I left the on-board casino and wandered onto the deck for a sneaky ciggie (of which I no longer partake). We didn’t bother going to the smoking area as there was hardly anybody around because it was blowing an absolute sea-gale. We just hid in a dark corner.

My mate Johnny flicked his nearly-finished cigarette over the side, which I know is highly offensive environmentally however in his defence, we were… somewhat inebriated. Due to the roaring tempest, the ciggie was a glowing orange ember which came straight back in, launched itself up into the wind and landed on the chest of a… rotund (not sure of the politically correct term nowadays) American about twenty metres away. Fanned by the gale the ember burned straight through his white collared shirt and scorched his skin.

The big fella (roaring and beating at his chest) – “WHAT THE?? GODDAMN SON-OF-A-BITCH. AAAAARGH, MY FU#KING NIPPLE!!”

Having a major American-nip-injury on our hands, one quick glance at each other was enough.

We bolted.

Running back to the Casino, we resumed our seats at the Blackjack table with all the lads. Before we could even explain why we were out of breath, Goodo arrived with a fancy tray, complete with silver cloche that he had somehow procured for the lads.

Goodo (in his most Jeeves-ish voice) – “Are we hungry at all gentlemen?”

We all gave a mighty cheer as he removed the lid, revealing an enormous Hawaiian pizza, exactly what we needed after drinking all night.

Goodo (proud as punch) – “Who provides ten times out of ten?”

He was certainly looking like the man, right up until the moment he drunkenly tripped on one of the stools, stumbled and flipped the silver tray upside down ON TO THE BLACKJACK TABLE.

We all just stared as the cheese, ham, pineapple, crust, tomato base and oil abomination slopped all over the green felt and into the dealer’s chips. Then the hysterics started and everybody in the place seemed to be laughing uproariously at Goodo’s pizza-delivery. As it was a cruise and not an actual Casino, we didn’t get evicted, they just opened another table and moved us all there.

And then we heared over the loudspeaker – ATTENTION, WE HAVE A LOST CHILD WITH OUR SECURITY STAFF.

Me – “What a fu#king disgrace. Who loses their child at two in the morning?”

Johnny – “That parent’s got to be the lowest form of life. An absolute dickhead! What an asshole he must be. That mother-fu#ker. I’d be embarrassed to call that scum bag a mate!” 

He was getting surprisingly worked up about this dodgy parent.

Johnny – “I’ll bet the guy is fat, bald and has an overblown opinion of his own poker skills!”

Wait! What??

Then with a smart-arse smile Johnny pointed to the front of the casino, where stood a chubby, angry-looking security guy, with my five-year-old daughter in her Dora the Explorer pajamas!

My drinking-Long-Island-Iced-Teas-since-early-evening heart, froze.

I raced up to the pair and on the way noticed that the security guy had a burn mark and hole in his white shirt, right over his nipple!

Oh, no.

Now I was torn. My daughter’s wellbeing was on the line, but this was the guy who we’d scorched only half an hour previous!!

Questions flooded through my cloudy mind. Did he see Johnny-nipple-burner and I before we did a runner? Was he going to recognise me as Johnny-nipple-burner’s accomplice? What is the punishment for accidental at-sea nipple-burning? Do I dob in Johnny? Would we need to replace his shirt? Do I pretend I have never seen him before or go straight up and apologise? Do I make a joke about it? Why does he have my daughter?

It turned out my five-year-old had got up to go to the toilet during the night, taken the wrong door, locked herself out and then went wandering.

The big guy did not smile as he introduced himself as Jerry, Head of Cruise Security. He didn’t recognise me!

Either our “dark” ciggie-hiding-spot was exactly that, or we were so fleet of foot that he didn’t notice our charging escape.

Excellent lighting that.

Jerry – “You know, I’m a busy man. I shouldn’t have to waste my time finding the drunk parents of children who are roaming around the boat at Ungodly hours of the night.”

Me – “Maaate, she accidentally locked herself out of the room. No need to get all wound up about it.”

Jerry – “A very busy man.”

Me – “I have to ask Jerry, there’s three thousand people on this boat, how the hell’d you know where to find me?”

Jerry (with about as much disapproval as you could put into a voice) – “Your poor daughter told me, it’s late at night so my daddy will be in the room with all the flashing lights!”

That was the moment I realised I had absolutely no chance of ever (I know I’d needed a lot of luck and I probably had no hope of winning anyway) being nominated for Father-of-The-Year Award.

Me – “You know you have a really big hole in your shirt there, Jerry? We can clearly see your nipple!”

 

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Thanks for reading. I write blogs oftentimes just to claim at parties much to my wife’s chagrin, that I am in fact… a writer. I write stuff for a few small businesses but I need to one day be a famous contributor to the noble art of blogging. And check out my the brilliant new craft-beer home delivery business I set up with a few North Shore mates (gettincrafty.com.au) Cheers