Daughter Too Smart For Me
I can remember my Mom using irrational fear to goad me into compliance.
If you don’t go to bed, Santa will skip our house.
If you don’t clean behind your ears, potatoes will grow there.
If you swallow the seeds, you’ll grow a watermelon in your stomach.
If you keep masturbating, you’ll relieve your sexual tension and get sleepy.
With one exception, all of these tacs worked.
Lady’s and gentlemen, my daughter is smarter than I was.
She is not-quite-four.
I was trying to button her shirt, and she was trying to get away from me to go play with her LittlePeople castle (where the Princess was having intimacy issues with her pretty horsey–don’t ask.)
Dad:”Sam, if you don’t let me button your shirt up, bugs will get in your clothes at school!”
Sam:”There’s no bugs at school.”
Dad:”Then they’ll get in your shirt when you’re outside playing.”
Sam:”No. The bugs outside just fly around. They don’t go in your clothes.”
Crap, I knew it would happen. This is just like the damn blueberry incident. I was forced to concede the point, and accept the fact that I have a room temperature IQ.
They’re so short at that age.
I never told you the one about masterbation. I only told you to stop doing it while sitting on my lap.
And why can’t Samantha have her own blog for real?
Were you people really here that early in the morning? Sheesh!
You probably need to adjust your blog’s timezone settings. It’s in the Dashboard, but I can’t remember where exactly..
No, I was actually here round 3am.
Ah, then it is already correctified.
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