So Ken’s birthday was last week, which means according to our deal, at 39, I can finally place him in a nursing home. Okay. So maybe that wasn’t the deal, which is probably for the better because I can’t cook for myself. Although after two days had passed, he threw his back out so a nursing home might be the safest place for him.
On Thursday, we decided to take the kids out for a nice dinner to celebrate. We sat down at a table (a FAR back table, where no one could hear the kids bicker.) Ken and I ordered some SUPER butch Mai Thai drinks which both arrived at the table with a cherry on top. Our youngest asked for my garnish and then loudly announced to the entire restaurant that she can tie the stem in a knot inside of her mouth.
That may have been when I died. Or passed out. Or possibly just went into shock.
Looking back now, I’d describe that particular moment as one of those times that you absolutely don’t want to see or hear… like walking into a room where your parents are having sex or anything participating in anything involving Rick Santorum.
I just remember the next thought I had was, “MYYYYYYYYYY BAAAAAAAAAABBBBBBYYYYYY” before knocking back the entire drink then trying to settle my running brain. Where did I go wrong? Am I not home enough and now am considered an absent father? Is this the line where she begins to morph into a stripper named Bubbles? Should I require her to un-sexy tv shows like Here Comes Honey Boo Boo or CSPAN? Where did she learn this? And of course, right as I ask this question in my head, this was the point where our oldest daughter yells out, “I CAN DO IT TOO!”
Yeah… I’m going to need another drink. Or four.
Ken may have sensed my terror or may have seen my eyes roll back into my head, decided the best thing to do was ignore her, change the conversation over to our son and talk about school.
Ken: “How are your classes?”
Ken: “Tell us something interesting that is going on at school.”
T: “Nothing is interesting.”
Ken: “Tell us something interesting or you don’t get to eat when your food comes.”
T: “One of my teachers is like 4 feet tall and when you have your phone out, you don’t know when to put it away until its too late and she is standing behind you then takes it!”
*Note to self: Threaten to take away french fries to get responses.
Me: “Yeah. When I was your age we didn’t have cell phones to take away. We had the original black and white screen Palm Pilot.”
Me: “You know… a palm pilot… a PDA?”
( (-_-) — high tech image of my face)
Me: “A combination of the calendar and notes app on your cell phones.”
All three kids at the same time: “OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH”
Excuse me while I check myself into a nursing home.
This is obviously not my night. First, I find out my youngest has daddy issues THEN I get called old. And here I was thinking IT WAS KEN’S BIRTHDAY.
It was at that exact moment of my mental shutdown, and I’m not exaggerating on this, our youngest daughter full on SPITS OUT the cherry stem onto the middle of the table with such force, it was as if she was trained by highway truckers to spit chew, and screams, “I DID IT!”
All of my nervousness and anxiety dissolved because the presentation had the attractiveness of Snooki birthing… well… whatever she birthed out. A squid? A Pabst Blue Ribbon can? Regardless, what Snooki brought into this world probably looked similar to the lone tied cherry stem in the middle of our table.
The act was probably the best birthday gift that Ken could have received. Thank goodness we don’t have to worry about her transforming into Bubbles any time soon.