Train Derailed...I was just getting ready to write something when I heard screaming and crying coming from my daughter's room.
I don't mean like regular whimpering or anything. This was screaming and crying like she was getting beaten.
No, Susan was not beating her.
As a father, it is one of my many duties to run headlong toward sounds of danger and distress from my child. Basically, whenever my child screams in mortal terror, I am REQUIRED to run directly toward that sound.
Side note: What the F&%@, Biology? Why the hell am I programmed to go defend my kid?
This is survival of the fittest around here. If she happens to be getting murdered or eaten by a pack of hungry dogs or something, that's just the beautiful circle of life. Who am I to interfere?
Let the kid die.
Anyway, I run full speed to her room expecting the worst. Blood, vomit, severed limbs, whatever. The way she's screaming and crying, it could be anything.
Daughter>> I didn't get to finish Handy Manny.
Let me break this down for you: she woke up in the middle of the night and freaked out because she didn't get to finish watching a show like 4 hours ago?
What the hell?
You know, three minutes after we shut off the TV, that makes sense. Feel free to file a complaint.
Daughter>> Daddy... What's that big dragon thing?
No. No. I would not feed my daughter to Jormy.
I'm fairly certain I wouldn't do that.
Still, after four hours, she's kind of lost her right to argue the point. You know, since it is late and she is in bed.
Also, the show has been over for three and a half hours.
And I had to spend ten minutes calming her down and telling her we'd watch it tomorrow. Ten minutes of trying to make her feel better about the thing that took four hours to register.
Man, kids are F&%@ed up.