thedadreport.com

I’m out today doing what I shouldn’t be doing: Eating fried chicken at Popeyes. Luv the spicy white 2pc and mashers with cajun gravy all washed down with a gallon of Diet Coke elixir of the Gods. Sad. Anyhoot, as I’m contemplating my choice for dining in the “dining room” I notice a Popeyes employee cleaning the tables. Okay so far, looks like some sort of antiseptic blue liquid . . . I’m cool with germ killing blue liquids. Looks like she’s giving the tabletop a good going-over with the death-to-germs soaked rag. And then I see it.

Uh oh . . .

In the blink of an eye, the tabletop rag has morphed into the seat cleaning rag . . . or ass wipe rag. “Oh no, no, no, . . . nooooooooooooooooo,” she takes the newly morphed ass wipe rag and moves to the next table and  . . . yep . . . it’s now the tabletop rag again. Ass to mouth, mouth to ass, repeat and rinse. Man-o-man. Actually, this is nothing new, I’ve seen this scene repeated many times in many places . . . appetizing.

I do have one bright spot to report: Roy Rogers. I was in a Roy’s in Gaithersburg one fine day getting my Roast Beast on when I spied the ubiquitous bucket of blue. Only this time it had some lettering on it. The lettering said, “For Tabletops ONLY!”

Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. Someone somewhere gets it: “Oh, table wipes are table wipes, and ass wipes are ass wipes, and never the twain shall meet.” Apologies to Kipling.

At our recent birthday party for Erin, the food of choice was pizza. As the pizza was sliced and handed out, the jockeying for more slices began. One little pal’s plea was tops:
Little Pal, “I need two pieces of pizza!”
Lisa, “Why?”
Little Pal, “Because I have a really fast metazolism.”

Which of course prompted ALL the girls start saying that THEY have fast metazolisms too.

Come home the other day and there is a message from the school nurse. Erin has hurt her finger at recess, she’s fine, no need to rush to school. OK. We get her at the bus stop, she said she hurt it during Dodgeball . . . she wasn’t really looking when the ball was thrown at her. . .  yes, she cried a lot.  (The other version was she wasn’t even playing, or looking but got hit anyway.)

When we get home Lisa takes a look at it and sez, “I think that’s broken, I’m going to take her to the pediatrician.” So she does, yep, x-ray confirms broken. We should see an ortho sez the peds. OK. So we do . . . or rather Erin and I do . . . Mommy has a dental appointment. I suspect nothing. Remember, Lisa’s dad was an ortho doc. Keep that in mind. See me and Erin laughing all the way to the Dr’s office. La de da. Sez me, “Oh they’ll just confirm it’s broken and change the splint to a nicer one, we shouldn’t be there long.” “Cool.” sez Erin. La de da.

“Yep, it’s broken,” sez the doc. Then he turns to unsuspecting me and sez under his breath, “We’re gonna have to set it.” I’m thinking, “By set it you mean . . .” Then I’m thinking, “Lisa = dentist appointment?” No way she could have set me up for this, how would she know Erin would break her pinkie . . . oh never mind. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by Erin who has sensed the shift of the wind, much like a scared antelope who smells a Tiger about but can’t quite see it . . . yet.  Sez the doctor, “Oh now don’t worry, we’ll give you some numbing medicine so you won’t feel anything . . . then I’ll just move your pinkie back to the way it was.” Erin sez, “What does the numbing medicine taste like?” That’s where I nearly cried. “Oh, it’s not medicine that you take by mouth, it’s a SHOT WE GIVE YOU IN YOUR HAND.” Read more »

In the car the other day, we’re all talking about salads.

Erin, “I love the salad at school.”
Us, “Oh yeah, why?”
Erin, “Cuz it’s always fresh, there aren’t any tomatoes, hardly any lettuce and lots of croutons.”

First day at our new pool, Northwest Branch. In the water with Erin who recently broke her finger playing/not playing dodgeball. We have her hand wrapped in plastic so as not to get it wet. Ooops, got it wet anyway :-) Erin spies a little pal from RMSC practice group. The conversation goes like this:

Little Pal, “What happened to your finger?”
Erin, “Broke it playing dodgeball.”
Little Pal, “Well, at least you didn’t break your neck and get paralyzed.”