It’s like getting abducted by a UFO. You went into this awful experience with an absurdly difficult and disgusting task. Next thing you know, it’s 45 minutes later and you’re sitting on the floor finished, with no recollection of how you got there or what you did.
I want to give lectures about what I was forced to call meals as a child and how we don’t get to choose what we want to eat. But, alas, I’m tired. So I plop the Eggos in the toaster and everyone enjoys their morning.
As I frantically tried to put his clothes back on, I repeated “No, no, no,” and “we don’t take our clothes off”.
The days of smoking in the mall, downing an Orange Julius, and watching Dr. Huxtable examine women in his basement have all come to an end.
People assume we are born this way. Our Dadness starts on day one.
Don’t tell me what cool is. I know what cool is.
It’s my edible nemesis and my new daily nightmare. Welcome to fatherhood, pops.
Let’s talk about the grass and the price of chicken and whether I saw the game yesterday. Or not. I’m good either way.
OK. Great. Now I have to fight this guy and the ice cream is going to melt.
Hey, kids are happy? Yeah? Not for long. Ice cream man is here.
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