THE fat kid has two new additions to the family.
Firstly, she has purchased a blue VW beetle which looks very slick and she adores. It's also the first car she has brought without the help of the bank of Dad (other than a small contribution as her combined birthday/christmas present).
Second, and far more worringly, she has somehow acquired a Staffordshire Bull Terrier which she has called Pebbles.
Now, I've lost count of the number of times I have told her not to get a dog. I've warned her that they are not fashion accessories, you have to feed them, house train them, generally look after them and not go out on the razz and leave dad to look after them. Plus the fact they don't stay puppies, they actually grow up.
But I guess me saying "no" is like a red rag to... well, a dog.
I turned up late on Wednesday to settle in for an early night before work and there it was, lying on the sofa cuddling up to her.
Ok, so it's a bit cute. It's white with a touch of pink in the face, which is why the Fat Kid likes it so much.
Not such good news, it likes chewing. More specifically it likes chewing my shoe laces and my baseball hat.
"She's no trouble, she'll be fine," the Fat Kid says.
Basically, she sees it as one of those "handbag" dogs like Paris Hilton might own. She got the idea from the little pooch in Legally Blond.
In fact, she has already got it a little dress to wear and has given it a baby's dummy to suck.
"It was either that or a baby girl," she told me when I immediately turned into grumpy Grandad at the first sight of the little monster.
I think she has read the script wrong.
The dog in the Legally Blond film is, I believe, called a White Pomeranian and I doubt whether they grow much bigger.
The Staffordshire Bull Terrier, by comparison, is the dog you regularly see walking through the Essex streets attached to the arm of a neanderthal, straining at a chain-link leash and, if you're very lucky, wearing a muzzle.
The dog is designed to say: My owner is hard.
I can't believe anyone will be taking this one very seriously when she struts along wearing a pink tutu with no doubt a ribbon tied to her head and a dummy in her mouth.
I fear poor Pebbles will be suffering a deep identity crisis before very long.