Gray Pubes and Bulk Shopping

Okay:

So have you seen this commercial yet?

I don’t have anything clever to say about it. But it’s always good to see black-owned companies graduating into video advertising. It’s an accomplishment (read sarcasm).

Once again, my daughter showed me that getting older is not a gradual process. You wake one up morning, you have gray pubic hair and a backache.

My daughter is 8 years old, and for whatever reason, she’s extremely talkative. I’m not exactly sure where she gets it from, but it’s ridiculous. Sometimes when we’re getting into the car she’s telling me some story about something she thinks is funny. She’s not even really breathing in between sentences. I let her in the back seat and she’s talking. I strap her into her booster and she’s still talking. I close the door and walk around to the front. When I get in the driver’s seat, she still talking!

The funny part is I don’t think she pauses while she’s in the car alone for 15 seconds. I think she just keeps right on talking.

And she begins every sentence with “This one time on Hannah Montana…”

The other day she was talking, talking, talking. I was nodding my head, trying to be polite. Then she goes, “Daddy, were you even listening to me?”

I say, “Sure I was, honey.”

And she says, “If you were listening, what was I saying?”

So I say, “You were saying…” Then I come to my senses.

“Wait a minute, dammit!” I say. “I told you I was listening. You ain’t my girlfriend. You’re an 8 year-old.”

Like my aunt used to say. “The little fuckers don’t come with instructions.”

In other news, I have officially become a very boring adult. Yesterday I went bulk shopping at BJs!

I know, I know.

My girlfriend kept telling me how much cheaper it is and how I wouldn’t have to go grocery shopping for like three months if I dropped a couple hundred at BJs. I finally caved. It was miserable.

There are all these grown-ups running around with over sized shopping carts, toddlers in tow and diaper bags slung over their shoulders. They spill out of huge SUVs, gospel music seeping from the windows. Some of them are wearing sandals.

I want to turn around and go home. Then I start noticing the prices. Three jumbo bottles of Curel for $13. Twenty-four rolls of Charmin for $10. Six gallons of Deer Park for $5. I look at my girlfriend and say, “We may need another cart.”

The other day, she bought me some scalp treatment from the hair salon because she noticed I was flaking badly. A year ago, I was knocking back shots of Dewar’s five nights a week at happy hour, having random casual sex and sleeping the entire weekend.

Now I’ve got dandruff and enough meat in my freezer and lotion under my sink to survive a nuclear holocaust.

God, you’re hilarious.

Truthfully, I don’t know how I lived like that for as long as I did. It’s hard doing all this shit alone. Especially when you’re drunk. Being sober and committed has its advantages.



Thanks for reading.

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