Th'Eskimo, pa ha! You could say that 
Me [all nonchalant]: 'Dad, guess what mum said yesterday? She said she wished she could afford to send us to Prague for a sibling for Nancy.'
Dad: WHAT??! The turncoat! She said it were a reet bad idea 'cos of 'er 'ealth and you two on benefits and Michael's sciatica and you letting t'babby eat soil.'
Me [faux resigned; doleful]: 'Yeah well...doesn't matter, does it, cos she hasn't got the cash.'
Dad: 'Tell you what...do you want me to loan you the money?'
Me [faux indignant]: NO WAY! I'd rather be beholden to a bank than to y....'
Dad: 'Tell you what..'ow much is it these days? Still six grand?'
Me: [faux ambivalent]: 'Oh, I've no idea, Dad, I think so.'
Dad: 'Tell you what..'ow about I give you the money.'
Me: [faux outraged]: 'NO WAY! Not again..not a chance...you've already done enough financing our Nancy. We'll wait to see if we get pregnant naturally.'
Dad: 'You'll never get pregnant wi' them syringes! I've never 'eard owt like it! [sheepish] yer mum told me you were 'avin' problems in the bedroom department.'
Me [actually outraged but hiding it behind utter bastard joy]: 'Oh. Right. Well..it has been a worry, Dad, and I'm not getting any younger.'
Dad: 'Tell you what darlin'....book yer flights tomorra. Let's get t'ball rollin, sweet'art.'