On not being able to draw the Pringles man

On not being able to draw the Pringles man

"Actually, Dad – there IS one thing I can do better than you."

Two if you count getting into the Guinness Book of Records for never, ever tidying your room, but that's just grump old man-speak, which I express with just two words:

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I can draw the Pringles man, and you can't."

Bugger. The boy has a point, and danger immediately rears its ugly head.

"Boy, you have a point. And I shall do my best to rectify this appalling lapse in my acquired life skills."

"You're talking crap again, aren't you?"

"…because – who knows – there might come a time when we find ourselves in the clutches of a ruthless despot who dispenses his mercy or dreadful wrath on the whim of his unhinged personal demands."

"Yup. Crap."

"We'd be there, cowering in his presence and he'd point at us and scream 'YOU and YOU – draw me the Pringles man or you will DIE!!!"

"Mum! Dad's forgotten his happy pills again!"

"Have you got a pen? I need to draw the Pringles man, for our very lives may depend on it. The chisel-tip marker, if you'd be so kind. Son? Son?"

And he is gone.