“It’s like I have two mommies!”
Opening Statement: As a father, society expects me to show my son what it means to be a man. I am completely ill-equipped for this enormous task. I submit the following as evidence for the prosecution and throw myself on the mercy of the court:
Exhibit A: It took me an hour and a half to put together the storage unit that holds Dom’s toys. It included only 8 pieces and came with an illustrated instruction manual, but apparently that’s not enough to keep me from looking like my son trying to eat oatmeal without getting any in his hair. Every time Dom approaches the stupid thing I’m afraid it’s going to topple over onto his beautiful little head.
Exhibit B: I took Dom’s temperature anally until he was 6 months old. After hearing me tell our pediatrician this, my wife corrected my terminology from “anally” to “rectally,” but it was too late. Our pediatrician now refuses to make eye contact. Apparently after 3 months babies start to have some control over their rectum, and taking a rectal temperature can be uncomfortable (for the record, Dom never complained. . .don’t know if that’s good or bad).
Exhibit C: I’ve been in only one fight in 29 years and I got beaten like a rented mule. When I was in fifth grade a fellow outcast told me that my front teeth were so big he was pretty sure my mom “had relations” with John Elway (only he really dropped the f-bomb). I responded that he was so fat that his mom must have had relations with Porky Pig (only I was too much of a momma’s boy to say the F-word, so I actually said “had relations” . . . man, I sucked hard). Anyway, long story short, he responded by knocking my stupid glasses right off of my stupid face. I responded by running away.
Exhibit D: I’m an asthmatic and deathly allergic to everything from animal dander to pollen. Because of this, I have a deep-rooted hatred for the environment. Dom will never go camping with his old man. We’ll never pitch a tent together (hehe). We’ll never sleep on the ground together and stare at the stars, and he’ll never have a dog. That last one is seriously really sad.
Exhibit E: House centipedes scare the piss out of me. Like most husbands I’m the designated bug-slayer. I shoulder this burden, but find myself screaming like a little girl during at least half of my epic battles with the centipede army of darkness. They’re so evil incarnate that they can’t even resist eating each other. Every spring I see a bunch of little half-inch monstrosities, and by the end of summer there’s just one enormous five-inch centipede super-soldier staring me down from the kitchen sink, daring me to make the first move. It’s like the plot of Highlander is playing out in my crawl space every March through September.
Cross-Examination: In the interest of a fair trial, I shall now cross examine myself. The defense would like to submit the following:
Exhibit A: The storage unit had 34 pieces if you count screws, dowel rods, and cam-locks
Exhibit C: Porky Pig’s bastard son had one hell of a right hook for a fifth-grader.
Exhibit D: Mother Nature sucks, and so does camping.
Exhibit E: When a four-inch house centipede was on a direct-intercept course with my infant son, I killed it with my bare hand and managed to refrain from screaming, swearing, and crapping my pants.
Closing Arguments: What’s that you say? You’re wondering why the defense failed to address the evidence presented in Exhibit B? I’ve tried to formulate a defense for like an hour and I’m dead in the water on the anal thermometer thing. I plead for leniency, oh merciful members of the jury.