Dexter to write, and a serious case of cabin fever, I told her we were going to have a day of work together.
After two hours of sitting in Caffe Nero, with me doing some colouring-in and Betty playing games on my iPad, talk turned to our lunch options.
Betty told me she wanted Jaffa Cakes for lunch.
"I think because you have been so good all morning, I will take you for a very special Thai lunch to mine and daddy's favourite restaurant," I told her.
I sat there battling with my conscience. Betty had never had Thai food before, and it was pretty unlikely that she would like it. But I was really really in the mood for it, and decided nothing else would do.
So we entered the restaurant, and the waiter raised an eyebrow at my little companion. "My daughter has a very sophisticated palate," I told him defiantly. "In fact, she loves Thai food, she has it all the time". Well she loves olives and pickled onions, I reasoned to myself.
In a moment of dizzy excitement at being in my favourite restaurant, I ordered my two favourite main dishes, plus rice and prawn crackers. If all else failed Betty would definitely eat the rice and crackers.
The waiter raised another eyebrow at the volume of food I had, in effect, ordered for myself. The food arrived and I optimistically dished out Betty's share of noodles and curry. This still left an awful lot for me - six year olds don't eat huge portions.
Betty took one mouthful of noodles and told me they were disgusting. She then plumped for a prawn cracker which she told me tasted of fish and made her feel sick. And the rice was too sticky, and the curry too spicy.
"Ow, my mouth is really really stinging," she cried just as the smirking waiter walked past. "Well drink some orange juice then," I loud-whispered through gritted teeth.
"The orange juice tastes of lemons," she told me.
So feeling really stupid, and not wanting to get another raised eyebrow from the waiter, I ploughed my way through two meals, very very slowly.
The one saving grace was the decorative carrot carved into a rose shape, which thankfully kept Betty amused while I force fed myself. She took photos from various angles, nibbled it, took more photos, and then carefully wrapped it up in a napkin so that she could take it home and show Tom.
Without the distraction of the carrot, Betty then politely asked me why my face was so red, and when we were leaving.
And when we eventually walked out of the restaurant, me barely able to move and feeling like I was going to hurl, a hungry Betty said: "Can we go for lunch at Pizza Express now?"