Heading out to pick up Isabella from her Saturday gymnastics practice, I find Julianna (she’s 10) in the car seat next to me.

Me: When did you get there?

J: Daddy, I was always there.

Me: Well, not always, you see the Big Bang…

J: Dad stop. Can I put on the radio?

Me: Of course.

She clicks it on. Blondie. “Heart of Glass.” My arms start dancing while I’m still holding the steering wheel.

J: Daddy, please stop. It’s dangerous.

Me: Honey, my elbows want to talk! Because we haven’t heard enough Blondie on the ’80s station recently.

And, I actually said this:

Me: … He said facetiously.

Without skipping a beat:

J: Dad, please stop narrating yourself. (actual quote.)

Because I do do that a lot (Ha! I said doodoo! Help me.)

Julianna flips the station to the adult contemporary station. She’s a “Maneater.” Thanks for that Daryl and John.

We are stuck at stoplight. A couple of little girls cross the street with their Mom. The girls are in flouncy skirts with crinoline.

Me: I bet they just came from a performance.

J: Maybe they just like skirts.

Me: Nobody wears skirts like that unless they are performing.

J: Well, but you do.

Me: No, I don’t. That was a joke, right?

J: But you can’t wear high heels.

Me: No, I can’t balance.

J: Because you are fat.

Me: No, honey. Not because I am fat. I’ve never worn them. So, I’d be wobbly.

J: Because you’re fat.

…And, we haven’t even picked up Isabella yet. The trip home? Fuggetaboutit.

By the way, I’m Ok with men wearing skirts. As well as women wearing pants.