Silk Purses.

If Clibrig males have any redeeming characteristics at all, it is their ability to produce beautiful daughters.

And so it is with my daughters.
But silk purses can't be made out of sow's ears. 
Their mother and their father's mother were beautiful. 
Their father may well have been a weedy little bastard, but even though it was frequently out of his jeans, it was in his genes.

And as it goes in nature, survival of the species being paramount, compensatory mechanisms are bound to evolve. 
If an individual finds a latent ability to improve his leg-over odds, a talent for something (smooth-talking for example), it simply makes sense to make the most of it. 

Fortunately for all concerned, my Y chromosomes were slow out of the bollocks, and I was able to add to the net beauty of the world.


So, as the apocryphal mayor of an French rural village said, when a visitor expressed amazement at the mayor's family of five daughters, saying "Sacre Bleu! Cinq enfants! Chaque fois une  fille!", to which the mayor replied "Non, non! Beaucoup de temps, non enfant du tout!"* 



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*My apologies if my schoolboy French is crap. I spent most of my French classes at school outside the Headmaster's office waiting for punishment for giggling in class. 

A rough translation of the visitor's comment is "Holy crap! Five kids, every time a girl!"
And a rough translation of the Mayor's reply:  
"Hell, no! Lots of times, no kids at all!"