The mailman mistakenly delivered the neighbor’s winter Victoria’s Secret catalog to our doorstep the other day.

This did not escape my attention.

While I was using the catalog… Um, sorry… I mean perusing the catalog (you know, to find the correct address… a-hemmm), I eventually came to the realization:

As a father, my daughters will NEVER have the terms “Pink” or “Juicy” emblazoned across the asses of their form-fitting yoga pants. It’s not a frickin’ billboard!

Plus, really? You’d pay THAT for a thong?

To the wife: Well, if you insist, Dear. I’m perfectly Ok with thongs whatever the price…

Plus… Page 33, I’m looking at you.