Daughter: Your beard grew even more so now you have a million pricks on your face!
My wife goes out of town in two days. I'm not shaving. Sounds like work. Obviously I think I look like Sebastien Chabal (or an imaginary anemic brother at least) and not like every police drawing of people caught sniffing milk in the local Nice and Easy at 2am in the morning. Obviously I'm not as beefy as Chabal. And yes I'm quite aware that he's much taller, bigger, broader, Frencher and more nationalist than I'll ever be. But I have started a decent weight program to chunk up a touch. I've shedded weight to such a huge degree that someone I know felt the need to ask, are you alright?" I've hit that point anyway where I've run off every ounce of fat and can't actually kick on to the next distance level (10-15 miles regularly as opposed to mostly under 10 with the odd long one thrown in) without bulking up a bit. So instead of eating ten pounds back on I'll pack it on with weights instead. At least that way I can triple my chocolate intake and claim it's part of the exercise. Wont do too much of that though. There's such a fine line between taking care of yourself in that manner and being hideously vain. Thankfully my wife recoils at the sight of men who clearly spend hours a day growing muscles. She even went so far once to ask why a man would want his entire body to feel like a deformed erection. And even now as I transition from running to doing weights (you couldn't run in the snow and it being that cold even if you wanted to)I know she feels the same after seeing a shirtless bloke on TV with his strangely protruding abdomen-muscles and agreeing that he looked like an oddly sweaty snake that had swallowed a carton of eggs.
Anyhoo - I've spent my entire marriage wondering why on earth couples fight about things like beards. Yes - I did just wrote that. But it has baffled me that a bloke will stubbornly grow a beard when his other half is very much against it. Why suffer the grief? But here we are over a decade later and I just can't be arsed to shave. And the wife is never here anyway so any complaints seem silly and not really infused with enough commitment for either of us to really care. So instead I've convinced the two of us that I'll give it until the middle of October and - if I still don't look like a homeless man shunned from society for violating a pig then I may actually grow a winter beard. But chances are I wont be able to pull it off. Add my daughter suggesting my face is covered in cocks isn't lending my case any weight.
I was upstairs getting dressed this morning when I heard my daughter's familiar cry of, "DADDY!!! I NEED HELP WIPING!!!"While I was thinking whether there was anything specifically dodgy about taping her yelling that to put in a birthday card when she turns sixteen she yelled it again. As I was stood next to the heating vent I instinctively yelled down it that I'd be down in a second. At which point my daughter sounded a little surprised and said, "Hey! It sounds like you're in here!" For some reason I then made a ghostly "Woooo!!! It's magic!!!" noise before telling her I'd be right down again. When I appeared in front of her I instantly said, "So what did you think of that magic then honey?" Apparently she'd entirely forgotten our conversation because she then exclaimed, "I know!! It's a HUGE one! It felt like it came out sideways!!"
In completely unrelated circumstances - how do you explain to two naked children - one of whom is holding plastic cake - that literally playing kiss-chase is all seven kinds of wrong? Because that's what they were innocently doing whilst waiting for the bath to fill up yesterday evening. I had popped downstairs to let the dog in when I heard an enormous amount of happy screaming. As I made my way up I observed my daughter - still with her underwear on so as not to violate Rule 59 - running shrieking toward my bedroom holding a small plastic cake. Clattering behind her was my son - entirely naked - running on all fours like these genuine weirdos do with his tongue stuck out as far as he could. By the time I got upstairs my daughter was trying to hide under my duvet. But her brother had grabbed her leg and was trying to kiss it. They both thought it was just funny. I asked them with as much innocence in my voice (although I bet Tim Roth in Lie To Me/Deceiver would easily have noticed that I was oozing awkwardness) what they were doing. My daughter then said, "what you told us to do!" Okay. Obviously I ran a quick mental check to see If I'd guzzled a whole bottle of Olanzapine by mistake. I was pretty sure that ws the case although frankly if you had chugged that you might not be the best person to check with. But I was confident that because there weren't flying purple dolphins flying through the sky or a massive Christopher Biggins (most appropriate photo link EVER) in gold paint shitting out musical turds yelling in the accents of the Reverend Ian Paisley and Margaret Thatcher that it wasn't the case. So I asked her what she was on about. And she reminded me that I had moderated a fight between them downstairs earlier and told them that instead of always saying they would hit the other one why not say they'd hug them? Or tickle or kiss them? I assured them that would be much funnier and wouldn't result in crying, annoyance or Timeouts. To be honest though I'd just witnessed my son wolf-running after his sister with his tongue stuck out. Frankly the "I was gonna kiss her instead of punching her" excuse was in the Rob Lowe "she was trying to suck the poison out honey - honestly!" echelon of excuses.
I'm off to do dishes, straighten up some stuff and try and watch football. So while I'm doing that you can enjoy this -: