When Father's Day rolls around I expect a damn statue to be erected. My wife thinks I'm joking. Come next June, if there's no statue then I'm retiring from husbandry and fatherhood. I'm technically what you call a stay-at-home-dad, but around these parts I prefer to call myself a housebitch.
Today I got up and went grocery shopping. We don't have a car so that means that I had to hoof it. I got my little old lady cart and walked a mile up the street to the farmer's market. Along the way I saw that the video store was having a fire sale, so I looked through about a thousand movies for something that might (AOL keyword: MIGHT) keep my three month old's attention long enough for me to cook, clean, breathe and eat. No sooner than I'd gotten home and dumped the produce on the counter, I had to go back out to the real grocery store.
I dragged my old lady cart another mile down the street to the Giant. I spent a half hour in there (most of it in line) and then made the trek back up the mile-long hill to my house, all the while pulling my sleigh full of food. I put the groceries away and then went back out a third time to go to the CVS to buy diapers. Being the bastion of hell that it is, CVS didn't have any in her size so I had to walk another damn mile to the other CVS where they did have her size.
After four hours, I'm finally home and sad to see that the NFL decided to start the games without me...again. And just think, this is the weekend. Imagine what my weekdays look like. So yeah, next Father's Day there better be a damn ten foot tall marble statue erected in the park. I want a parade and rose bearers to lead me to it and when I get there, there better a feast in my honor. Oh yeah, my wife and daughter aren't invited. I'll bring them a plate though.
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