The other day I got L’s Mother to look at me in horror just by making a simple (and I thought logical) observation as we drove past a metal cross that easily towered twenty to thirty feet above the highway.
All I said was, “They must get really big criminals in this area . . .”
It’s okay to be into toe sucking if that’s your thing, but you probably shouldn’t lead with that the first time you’re talking to someone, and you definitely shouldn’t use that fact as a substitute for “hello.”
(Inspired by a friend of mine’s experience at a recent convention.)
Overheard in my son’s class today:
“Which word best completes this sentence? Let’s all play? Let’s please play? Or let’s for play?”
In the interest of doing a light-hearted entry on a day that I’m not feeling particularly light-hearted, I share the following observation with you:
One of the driving forces behind “Dad jokes” is the fact that Dads aren’t generally rewarded if they share the really funny things they’re thinking.
Last night I dreamt that I was walking among a ramshackle community of thugs, pirates and cutthroats when I noticed a group of children playing a harmless looking dice game in the street.
How cute, I thought to myself. It’s good to see kids doing normal kid things in the midst of all this depravity and degradation.
“Okay, he’s dead!” one of the kids announced. “Now roll again to see if you can **** his corpse. It’s trickier than it sounds!”
(The funny thing is that my dream actually bleeped that word out for me, presumably for extra comedic effect.)
It looks like the aftermath of the Donner Pizza Party in here.
– Me after observing the results of when a family of four feels just well enough to eat, but not well enough to cook or clean up after themselves in the slightest. (We did clean up after I said this, however.)
“People keep asking me to go clubbing,” Lala informed me at “too early for Rob to care about conversation” o’clock this morning, a fact she apparently picked up on, because then she promptly added the following “Let’s see if he’s really listening to me” bombshell:
“But I never go because I love baby seals!”
(And if you don’t get the joke, that means you are a good person, and I wish I could be more like you.)
As my week of snark continues, I was glancing over a drink menu last night and found myself contemplating how drink names have gone from the mildly risqué “Sex on the Beach” (And if this is the first time you’ve ever heard of that drink, welcome to the Internet! Enjoy your first day.) to legitimate grounds for sexual harassment, and I’m not talking about the drink. (Because, of course, there is one.(1))
In light of that, I found myself tempted to saunter up to the bar and order the most fantastically offensive list of random words and concepts I could string together, the sort of thing that if I posted here I’d ended up self-censoring out every word except for “the” and assorted prepositions, just to see what happened, but in the end(2) I restrained myself.
NOT because I was afraid of causing offense, mind you . . . but for fear the bartender would just nod and start mixing my drink.
*****
(1) Yes, I noticed the typo too, but I suspect so long as all the alcoholic components are spelled correctly, typos don’t really matter in drink recipes.
(2) I will neither confirm nor deny the possibility that particular phrase might contain a clue to some of the words/concepts I was considering including.
“I cheated with the oatmeal this morning.”
There is a house in New Orleans,
they call the Rising Sun.
And it’s been the ruin of many poor boy,
– The House Of The Rising Sun, The Animals
Thank God, I know I’m one.
– The way I always end up singing the next line. (For those who don’t know, it’s supposed to be “AND God.”)
