It's Father's Day, and as I sit here, a week of flu-funk beginning to slough off my gray and withered frame, the virus-veil slowly lifting from my sheet-white crabplexion, I salute not the fathers of the world but, rather, the mother of the crabbyworld. Happy Father's Day? Nay, today I say, Happy Old Lady's Day.
This woman, this SAINT, has basically nursed me back to health from her already spawn-crowded (yet still amazingly pert and shapely after all these years) teats and today, a full nine days after I initially succumbed to this diabolical indisposition, here I sit, on the road to wellness and engorged with her restorative, loving life-milk.
Figuratively, of course. She'd never let me near those things in the shape I've been, lately.
She has endured end-of-the-school-year functions, grocery shopping, movie-attending-with-the-spawnage, weekend birthday functions, breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, and countless other thankless parental obligations, all without the slightest help from yours truly, Johnny Deathbed.
PLUS, throughout it all, she's endured countless hours of my non-stop puling, bellyaching and disease-speculating. "I don't think it's the flu -- maybe it's appendicitis!" "Who has the flu for a fucking week?! This isn't the flu... it's definitely something more in the cancer family of ailments." "Wait... does this rash smell like Ebola to you?!"
I SO would've divorced me by now, it's not even funny.
And how is she being rewarded, this paragon of parenthood, this matriarchal marvel, this fetching Freda? Well, she wanted to go see the "Sex and the City" movie tonight, by herself, and so, that's what she did after dinner. And she just got back, and apparently some skeevy douchebag came up to her, in the completely empty theater, and asked if she minded if he sat down next to her. Apparently, he also said, "It's so loooonely in here." What the shit?! She looked at him and, in her best stern mommy voice, said, "Yes, I MIND!"
He high-tailed it to the other side of the theater and then apparently bolted before the movie was even halfway over. The shitball's lucky he got outta there with his fucking grape-sack still attached. You don't fuck with the Old Lady, especially when she's out solo for the first time in nine days.
So, there you have it. I dedicate this Father's Day to the Old Lady -- the best dad a whiny, sickly 43 year old baby could ever ask for.
1 comment:
I posted first! Yee haw!
I think you should talk with the Old Lady and the Spawnage about rescheduling Father's Day to a time when you're not feeling so shitty. When would that be?
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