So tonight is a very special night for 1doh. No, it’s not her first date. And no, it’s not (hopefully) going to be the first (or last) time she sees her father being stuffed into the back of a squad car.
Tonight her beloved kindergarten teacher Miss Scott is coming over to our house for dinner.
That may not sound like a big deal to you. But to my first-borne, this is the biggest day of her life.
Don’t believe me? Well, last night, she looked at me and the wife and as sternly and as she could, told us the following:
Daddy, I want you to dress up extra nice and fansome. (That’s her word. It’s fancy. It’s handsome. It’s FANSOME!)
Mommy, I want you to make really good food for dinner. And wear something really pretty. And wear your hair down. And put on makeup.
(for the record, I’m in favor of Miss Scott coming over for dinner every night if this is what I can expect in exchange for some slacks and an ascot).
Oh, and before dinner, 1doh is planning to share some quality time Wii-ing with Ms. Scott in the basement. Of course, that’s after I rush home and “Clean it up daddy, so it looks nice.”
Anyway, the little woman and me were IM-ing today, and this is what transpired:
Me: I want to rush home, clean up flies, and stuff all the wrapping and Styrofoam in trash bags and take the boxes outside. You know…to impress ms. Scott.
GBD: YES
She’s coming at 5:30
But I may add an ascot.
GBD: k’
Me: what if I dressed all ghetto / hip hop and said stuff like “you K to the skizzle, this is how we roll up in the 770, beeehotch.”
Me: don’t ignore me, bitch.
Me: oh, and the thumb drive is apparently waterproof, at least in the short run. Who knows? Maybe the dryer helped. lol
GBD: lol
I’m trying to get this damn house ready.
GBD: don’t yell at me biotch
Me: have you put on your makeup yet?
GBD: I totally think you should be drunk
Me: and maybe a bridesmaid dress.
GBD: and cuss. And hit me
Me: Oh I can totally get drunk. I bet she’s a solo cup gal.
If this night ended with me getting some, it’d be the best date ever.
Me: god you’re mean. I’d just hit you twice instead.
And put fia in the pantry. She likes it in there and that would look AWFUL!
Me: you know this ends up on a blog too…right?
GBD: oh - remember we are not allowed to call Lauren whatever it is we call her
Goofball or something
GBD: no no - those are fine
It’s just goofball
I think I should speak with a British accent.
Me: you are taking this parenting shit WAY too seriously. I’ll ask my dad and see what he would do.
GBD: it could put her in therapy for real
Me: what if I hit on her? Not at all subtly?
GBD: well, he’d come to the table in his underwear, let the dog lick the toe jam out of his feet, make rutabaga and then fart all night
Me: again, if that night ended with me getting some, it’s high five’s all around baby.
GBD: well, who could resist??? You’d be rid of toe jam and all
Me: Holy shit. This might end up as the night of two times.
GBD: Well I just finished my first
Me: touché. Well-played Sensei.
And for the record, you are assuming that I care if you have any.
GBD: ok, back to cooking and cleaning I go
Me: love you.
GBD: love you too
Me: make sure the butter chicken is extra buttery, bitch.
GBD: why? To loosen your new arteries?
Me: no. I’m hoping to keep my stool loose like it has been. I lost about six pounds yesterday.
GBD: Ok, now I’m really hot. Hurry home
Me: Never mind. I’ll just finish up in the car on the way home.
GBD: k
What say you?