Gather ‘round children, it’s time for your bedtime story.
There once was a man who was bald. Yet, he was a handsome man, a man of stature and dignity. Dimples crowned his smile, which would melt many hearts of the fairer sex. He was kind to others unless they couldn’t order a meal at McDonalds in under 5 seconds.
This man was detached from most of his emotions relying greatly on common sense and something called the Hossman Principles. It wasn’t that he was dead inside, but confident that everything would work out. He was carefree and beautiful. His life was good and easy. He spent his days enjoying fast food, being lazy and in general making eyes at his wife. One day she decided that they should have a child. In the immortal words of Korn “This won’t hurt a bit, THIS WON’T HURT A BIT’
He decided that his life could use a little company of the miniature kind. “Why not” he asked. Afterall, what better way to celebrate his hossness than to bring in a DNA replica of everything that was great about him.
Thus our man had a child and all was good. Until the child found her voice and her sealegs. She quickly informed our man that things needed to change. What was once easy and quick was not complicated and demanding. There was an immediate control for power, which our man lost.
Then one day the little hoss decided that it was time to say “mama”. This perplexed our man as he spent so much time with her. Why was he being shunned? Was he not the greatness? Where was his “dada” that he lived for so much? He decided that every day he would combat this problem head on. Every time mama was uttered he would quickly say “dada”.
He felt confident that he could brainwash the small one and get his due respect. Did she not throw up on him constantly, did she not continually bonk him in the head with water bottles. He would have his dada that he craved so dearly. All he wanted was a little recognition of his greatness. His simplistic days were gone so his ego needed filling and quick.
Little hoss resisted, the will of a giant she had. She began playing mind tricks on him. She would say “nana” or “baba’ which would send our man running to clarify the speech. “No, dada, say dada” at which point she would laugh and poot.
Our man was broken. He was beginning to accept being that other guy that “mama” hung out with. And that is when little hoss had him. Her whole plan was to break him down and then build him back up. First beat him, then embarrass him, that was her motto.
As he was putting on her shoe, she said “dada”. She got so excited saying it that she wouldn’t stop. “dadadadadadadadadadadadada”. Our man was wild with excitement as his existence had been finally acknowledged. He began repeating it as fast as she was. Soon, every object in the house was known as a variation of “dada”. The table was “dadada”. The carpet was “dadadada”, even the dog became “dadadadadada”.
But only our man was known as “dada”.
And they lived happily ever after.
(This is my bedtime story that I tell my daughter).