We are a cliche

Hossmom is disappointed because the birthday card doesn't have flowers on it.  Apparently she asked for flowers on the birthday card and didn't get it.  She is a bit perplexed with me I think.  I do what any good father does, I blamed it on my 9 year old daughter.  Look, I've fulfilled my daughters every wish for 9 years she can take the heat for me on occasion.  Is it cowardly?  Perhaps.  I prefer to think of it as paying off a debt.

We were invited to a birthday party for a young senior citizen.  I will not do her the disservice of disclosing her age because I don't want my wife, or my wife's friends, to throw me out a window.  Let's just say she's over 21.  It was a surprise party but came with an open bar.  The kids were invited which I find normally negates the open bar.  Perhaps it was a trick to begin with.  If so, now I no longer feel bad about the birthday card.

Wait, check that, I don't feel bad about the card at all.  The card we chose instead was freaking awesome.  Was it appropriate?  Define appropriate.  I recall somewhere in the recess of my mind that Hossmom perhaps did give very specific instructions to give an age appropriate card that could be opened at a formal shindig.  She may have said something.  I may have forgotten.

But when Little Hoss and I went to pick up the birthday cards we didn't like the look of the flowers on the card.  Frankly, they were sinister and a bit devilish.  Dare I go against God?  Dare I tempt fate!  No, I do not.  Evil flowers man are evil flowers, you don't mess with them.

So instead my daughter and I picked out a kitty cat card.  With rainbows.  Shooting out of it's eyes.  It's an awesome card.

Now I ask you, would you rather have some wierdo flower card from some weirdo guy or would you rather have freaking rainbow laser kittens?  I think that is an easy choice.

Hossmom sighed and roller her eyes.  In my defense though, she knows not to send me out to pick out pretty things.  It never works out.  I have about as much taste and decorum as a rock in a mud pit.  I admit it.  So really the fault lies with her.  I'm just a product of my environment.

None of these arguments worked on Hossmom either.  So we rallied the kids, dressed them nice and gave a very strict discussion about proper behavior at fancy parties.  They promptly ignored this and preceded to rock some timeouts at a fancy restaurant.  We can do better kids, we can do better.  Maybe you got into the open bar while your dad did not.  Understandable.

We drove downtown to our fancy restaurant, a place named after some sort of legume or bean I think.  Honestly, I can't remember names of things like this very well.  It all gets filed in my head under "that one place", right next to "remember to get a birthday card with flowers on it."

Being downtown, parking was a bit of a challenge but we did manage to find a space.  Apparently downtown on a Sat. night is the place to be.  We wouldn't know really, our Saturday nights are usually spent crying in closets about how we used to be cool and hip.  We are no longer cool and hip.  I am ok with this though as I find today's music to be soulless and the youngsters entitled thus completing the journey to being an old man, much like my father before me who once told me that grunge music sounded like a garbage truck backing up.  I was hip then, he was not.

The parking space we were pulling into was slanted and required you to back in.  Hossmom was driving.

"Stop!" I yelled.  We came close to hitting a car that I'm pretty sure had never had kids in the backseat before.  There were no stains or hand prints on the windows.  Yuppie.

She pulled out again to give it another go..


She pulled out again.


Rinse, lather repeat.


Hossmom was not quite getting the fact that the spot was angled and required you to park angled.  She was trying, probably by force of habit, to back straight in.

"Do you want me to park?" I asked her.

She got out and gave me a kiss and I parked the car.  I was laughing.

It seems, even with our non traditional roles of me being the stay at home parent and her being the account executive, that perhaps we are still the walking cliche that makes for bad sitcoms.  I can't pick out a card and she can't park the car.

Or maybe she was thinking about flowers to much and not concentrating on the rainbow laser cat.

No comments:

Post a Comment