Ducks and Regrets

Well, I've certainly made a mess of things.

That's hardly a first.

I've made much bigger messes, actually.

Much, much bigger.

Entire civilizations, if we're counting.

Oh, don't look at me like that.

I had my reasons.

I always have my reasons.

And I was going to say something lovely.

I had it all worked out, too.

A little apology, a little fatherly wisdom,

Perhaps a joke or two.

Something about ducks.

She likes the ducks.

Well, I like the ducks.

I like the ducks a great deal.

And if a duck can spend its whole life

Going round and round in circles,

Then surely I can manage one little...

Oh, who's kidding?

I've never managed anything

By doing it the usual way.

I used to think that was a gift.

A little flair! A little magic!

A spectacular entrance,

And everybody looking at me.

And then along comes Charlie,

With that dreadful, lovely habit

Of looking right past all of it

To see what's underneath.

It's terribly inconvenient.

She gets that from her mother.

...I wonder if she's still angry.

She has every right to be, of course.

That's the irritating part.

I could explain.

I could make a joke.

I could tell her how the whole thing

Wasn't quite what I intended...

Oh, she'd hate that.

She'd give me that look.

That look.

I know that look.

I taught her that look.

Well, isn't that just wonderful?

I'm a father. I'm a king.

I'm supposed to know a thing or two.

And here I am, with nothing clever left to say.

Perhaps I'll just tell her I'm sorry.

No grand entrance.

No speech.

Just sorry.

Now, if only I could get out of this bloody thing.