The Uterine Walls Are Closing In

     Dammit, I crack myself up...

     OK, let me preface tonight's post by saying that nothing in this life gives me more joy than being the father of my two girls, "The Stacks," one short and one tall, as they've come to be known.  Not to mention, "The Boss," who after ten years of marriage still makes me feel like the luckiest guy in town.

BE THAT AS IT MAY.......

     Living in this estrogen abundant environment does not come without its dangers and challenges.  Oh, I stand at the top of my stairs in the morning like a mature Simba, watching over my kingdom... The golden locks of my mane blowing in the artificial wind created by the air conditioner vent just over my left shoulder.  Truth be told, my locks are more of a strawberry blond but let's face it, that doesn't have quite the same dramatic effect.  The pride below hardly gives me half a glimpse as a reminder that I am but a figurehead and that they, and only they truly rule the roost.  Sometimes, when I turn my  back to them , I hear their failed attempts at a silent giggle.  I hardly make a fuss though, not because I'm weak but because I have learned to choose my battles wisely.

     From time to time, when it feels as if the uterine walls are closing in around me. When I can't take the sound of a crying "Short Stack" for one more second. Or when I can't sit and watch Riding in Cars With Boys for the 100th time.  "The Boss" will send me out to do what the women in this family call, Weenie welding."  It's not as painful as it sounds, don't worry.  Directly translated it means, "Go hang out with the boys."  Sometimes that means a round of golf, or a night of fishing out on the pier.  More recently, it means going outside with the neighbors.  The neighbor to the left, we'll call him "Techy" he's a gadget guy.  The neighbor to the right, we'll call, "Reverend".  He's not really a reverend, but he can quote scripture like Billy Graham is his daddy.  We have some of the greatest times just hanging out in front of the house in our little cul de sac. We talk about guy crap.  We bitch about girl crap.  We reassure each other that everything is going to be just fine.  We drink a beer or two. Then we break our huddle and go back to our families with refueled jets. 

The moral of the story is..... Bosses, let your men weenie weld for a bit.  It's good for him.  It's good for you.  And it's good for the overall wellness of the family.  Don't you agree?