Dadda for Gaga

Three guesses where I am wearing these sexy teenage alien robot pants.

While we get along famously, my dad and I don’t have tonnes in common.

He’s a 6-foot-tall, 58-year-old stage carpenter with a beard who loves building boats, Bourne movies, and shopping at Canadian Tire.

I can barely grow a goatee.

But.

Both of us have always loved pickled herring and sour cream, neither of us can resist dancing to Billie Jean and we both love Lady Gaga.

So it was no surprise to the friend who suggested we get tickets to her upcoming Toronto show that my response was, “OK, but I’m bringing my dad.”

Hiding his ticket in the Christmas tree and watching him open it and delightedly laugh his head off was absolutely the highlight of my winter so far.

Coming up with his outfit will be a close second.