Smells Like Teen Spirit

Cuddling up with the five-year-old Isabella…

Iz: Daddy, you’re my best Daddy ever.

Me: Why is that?

Iz: Because, you always snuggle with me and scratch my back and sing me songs.

Me: And, what else…?

Iz: Because, when you snuggle, you always smell like… like…

I begin to panic…

Oh, Crap! What do I smell like? Garlic? Arm pit? Fart? Skunk? Beer? Bourbon? Scotch? Tequila? Cuban cigars? Weed from the joint I smoked with my newest bestest friend Guillermo from Tijuana? The cheap perfume of a stripper named Tyffanee who is really just lap dancing until she finishes the last three credits of her degree from DeVry in Communications? (She gets extra credit for her “body language.” Really?))

Iz: like… like…

Me (bursting with anticipation): Yeah…?

Iz: You smell like Potato Chips and M&Ms.

Me: Oh, Wow! You got me!

Whew!

Iz: You sneak unhealthy food, don’t you?

Me: Yes, sometimes… Ok, a lot of times.

Iz: Is that why you’re so short?

The line between “humiliation” and “education” is a very fine one. I freely cross into both realms…

Me: No, Honey, that’s why I’m fat… because I sneak chips and candy before going to bed. Don’t end up like me. Eat healthy. Be big and strong, not short and fat…

And, DeVry is bullshit.

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