Father's Day Fail?
(Curtis's and Coby's actual hands ... aww!)
Yesterday was Father's Day - and in case you're wondering, no, I didn't get a card (ungrateful little ragamuffins!). Curtis didn't, either ... but he did get pancakes for breakfast, roast and potatoes for dinner, a chance to watch his stupid fishing shows and his boring car shows on TV without protest, and a nice nap. And I told him, "Thanks for being my baby-daddy." So all in all, I'd say he had a decent day.
To tell you the truth, I might've actually bought him a card - and maybe one for my stepdad, too (sorry, Baba) - had I remembered in a timely manner that Father's Day was approaching. Yes, I saw the signs in the stores. Yes, I heard all the ads on TV imploring me to "give Dad what he wants this Father's Day" with this tool set or that barbecue grill. But they start such propaganda so early that I'm like, "Oh yes. Father's Day. Well, I've still got a little while to prepare for it." And by the time it actually rolls around, I've learned to tune out the ads and the signs until it's like, "Oh. Crap. Tomorrow is Father's Day? Really?"
Over the weekend I saw like THREE DIFFERENT GUYS on Facebook posting pictures of themselves on shiny new riding lawn mowers. My wife surprised me with this shiny new riding lawn mower for Father's Day! was the generic caption. Seriously? Riding lawn mowers are, like, a thousand bucks or more. Curtis would totally notice if our bank account was suddenly drained. And if I were to secretly save up that much money without him noticing, it would have to be in little bitty chunks. Which would take months. Years, even! Talk about planning! I can't even plan enough in advance to buy a damn card for my husband, or for the man who raised me. I'm not ungrateful, just unprepared.
I don't feel too bad, though. We "celebrate" virtually every holiday this way. Like on Valentine's Day, when Facebook and Twitter are gushing with, "My husband bought me these diamond earrings!" or "Champagne and strawberries!" or "Guess who's going to Cabo?" and I'm all, "Oh yeah? Well my husband said he thinks my butt is getting narrower. And then we went to McDonalds."
It's the thought that counts, right?