Father’s Day Can Suck It
Hey, you — on your way out the door, hot coffee in hand, that freshly-showered smell leaving traces of your awesome Dad presence — have a nice drive to work. By yourself. Listening to whatever music you want. Enjoying the bliss of a new morning.
Because you know what? I’m taking this day back.
It’s Mother’s Day part deux, punk.
And you wanna know why? Huh? Because every day is Father’s Day. Yeah, that’s right. It’s like having a national White People’s Day. Pretty pointless, if you ask me.
You walk across a room and the kids cheer. You master the fine art of making eggs for dinner (because I’m drinking my meal in the closet) and they devour every bite, chanting your name.
Yeah, I said it. And yeah, maybe I’m all strung out on bitterness, last night’s tantrum fest still fresh on my crazy-ass Mom brain.
Maybe making the one thousandth dinner our offspring refuse to eat has me a little loca en la cabeza.
Maybe eating frozen chicken nuggets for 5 out of 6 meals has warped my good nature.
Maybe the memory of shoving a 7-pound screaming larva out my lower abdomen makes me feel a tad deserving of more than one flipping day a year of recognition.
So, you know what? You just walk around with that penis, feeling all grand and shit. You fantasize about that nice steak dinner you deserve for, you know, helping out around the house even though the world doesn’t expect you to.
You feel all proud of being able to make new sperm well into old age while my broke eggs wither away into slow death before my hair turns gray.
Because I’m out. You hear? I’ve been drinking in the sweet taste of another day off since 5 a.m., bitch.
I got myself some high quality vodka and a playlist full of 90’s gangsta rap. I got big plans to drive around and shit. Enjoy the sunny day. Maybe kick some toddlers up at Wal-Mart. Who knows?
Now, go make those eggs. The kids will be up any minute.