Every Day is Father’s Day



One of the best feelings in the world of late is blindly reaching into the clothes dryer and pulling out a matched pair of socks.  That is one-handed, one-grab perfection!  It’s like finding an unopened box of penne when you believed you would be stuck with rotini.  It’s as emotionally uplifting as spotting MILF-nipple at the pool.  This is where I exist.  I am a haus herr, the “man” of the house.  Laundry.  Cooking.  Cleaning (well, remembering to write the check for the people who actually do the cleaning).  Sure, I paint, fix, and escort bugs out, but I know when it’s time to wash towels too.  There’s a schedule.  There’s an order.

A major part of my working-from-home deal is I also have majority responsibility for our daughter’s school affairs: drop-off and pick-up, meetings, field trips, classroom and workroom volunteering.  All the stuff traditionally done by mothers.  Apparently I live in a “traditional” community because I’m the only father with an all-access backstage laminate at the school.

In the three years I’ve been affiliated with the girl’s school, I have become a bit of an enigmatic legend.  I’m known as “the dad.”  I know the staff, teachers, and administration.  But mostly I know Moms.  Lots and lots of mothers.

I know the older career-guilt moms as they come and go all hosiery and furrowed brows.  They worry if they’re giving their children the attention they need.  Are they getting enough face-time?  What conference room is my 10:00 in?  I love ’em for real.  They like Volvos and BMWs and anything convertible.  They are in tune with the economy, world events, and politics.  But they don’t know shit for what’s going on at school.  Nothing.  But I’m there for my girls who leverage systemic solutions for corporate America.

I also know the young stay-at-home moms: the haus fraus, as I call ’em.  Women who are fairly narrowly-focused on rearing and domesticity.  Women who last tuned into world events over half a decade ago.  They still, obviously, drive Yukons, Sequoias, Expeditions, and Suburbans and idle them for the A/C in the kiss-n’-ride if the temperature warms past 70 degrees.  They don’t get global warming but they know who is sleeping with whom real and conjectured.  They sing Collective Soul like that shit’s cool.  Sorority girls.  But the young moms are really bored, lonely, and lost.  Soulless and without bankable skills (except having babies and drinking coffee).  I see the haus fraus all over the neighborhood.  We are united!  And I’m there for my girls who fancy themselves Desperate/Real Housewives who believe in Sarah Palin!

My moms style suits and heels, designer sweatsuits and big ass shades, and some inexplicably “style” Tevas and capris.  Sigh.  Not judgmental, just observant.  I love my moms.  I really do.

But the fathers are driving me fucking crazy.  I know, what is my problem?  I have the world of MILF at my fingertips and I’m even giving a god damn shit-fuck about non-Homie fathers.

But today was the annual Dads & Donuts event.  I’ve been attending since 2007 [clicky] so I’ve lost all of my neo-hippie idealism.  Now I just outright hate motherfuckers.  I have nothing but disdain for all these…men.  They are invading my space and I hate that the (other) mothers are doting over these Blackberry slaves for fucking visiting our school one time all fucking year.  Dorks don’t even want to be the fuck there.  You can see it.  Bored, annoyed, and mostly just lost.  Sperm donors so bossy-whipped, niggas getting all sweaty and fidgety when the principal walks by.

The only joy I possibly could have received from Dads & Donuts other than the insane endorphin high that comes with sociopolitic superiority, is if the cops would have raided the All Purpose Room in a donut-baited child support back-tax sting.

And my kid knows it too.  She’s all preening like queen of the disco as we navigate around clueless fathers in neckties spilling coffee all over their shifty-eyed, porn-surfing selves.  Fuck ’em.  I even cut the coffee line because my “girls” were serving.  “Will ya’ look at these tools!” Big laughs, ladies.

Alright I have to go now.  The dryer just buzzed and I don’t want the sheets to get too wrinkled and my wife might call.  Has anyone seen my dick?


3 Responses to “Every Day is Father’s Day”

  1. spleazeball Says:

    You forgot us haus-fraus who used to be career girls. We’re the *truly* bored to death ones. Ugh!

  2. Ty Hardaway Says:

    I love you fraus the MOST! Best of all worlds.

  3. spleazeball Says:

    Indeed. We wear Juicy sweatpants with a shirt and tie.

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