Mummy bloggers are taking over the internet and spawning blogs about their progeny and their shitty nappies and their snotty noses. All the dads are working and only a handful stay at home and rear them young’uns. I’m not a mummy or a daddy. But I have imaginary kids and I’m an imaginary dad and it’s pretty fucking easy to be, just check this out.
It struck me the other day while I was standing a top my ladder than I should be a daddy blogger. Seriously. I don’t stand on my ladder for no reason, I do actually clean and fix stuff up there but all of my best thinking is done on my ladder. You may feel the same way about the shower, or the toilet, or while you’re staring out the train window on the way to your big city job. I had a big city job, I wore shirts and shoes. But when I became a father I threw it all in to stay at home and hang out with my ladder with no shirt on. Oh, and rear them kids.
My wife works in the big city. She wears a shirt a shoes. She commutes on the train but she’s too busy careering on her tablet and computer to look out of the window and wait for the good thinkings to come along. She needs to stay at home with the ladder for a while, shirtless, oh, and with the kids.
The kids. Yes I have kids. A few of them. A young one, a middle one and an older one. The young one is home all day with me. She doesn’t go to school. I don’t believe in sending kids to school when they’re three because I got laughed at by the principal when I tried to enrol her earlier this year. But she is a smart one, my daughter. And she’s very mature for her age. Except, for, well, I don’t think I should humiliate her but this is going to be a great story for later on. Inspired by a monkey documentary I was watching with her, she decided to act like a monkey. Doing all the sounds and movements, you know. Then she went up stairs for about ten minutes. I figured she’d tired of playing primate, but no, she then returned, naked, with hands full of poo and decided to fling it around like a monkey. Sure, I was annoyed but also entertained by this display of mimicry. The least entertaining bit of the performance was when some poo marred my previously untouched by poo ladder.
When my wife arrived home after work that day, I told her about the great performance and our daughter’s clever use of props and on a whim, tried to enrol her in some acting classes. Do you know how much acting classes cost for kids? Heaps! I looked at them on the internet. The way I figure it is, if your kid is young then acting classes shouldn’t cost as much as if you enrolled a teenager or yourself. Why? Because I said so. And I said this to the guy the next day when I called the acting school and he laughed and laughed at me. Screw you, I thought. I hung up in a rage but then the phone slipped from my hand and fell, hitting a couple of ladder rungs on its way down.
Written by thepackedvacuum