“What the hell is that?” I mumbled, squirming as I drove along. Something was being shoved between my backrest and seat.
“What the hell is what?” Tracey asked me from the passenger seat.
“Something’s digging into my butt,” I told her.
“Are you sitting on something?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. Then I called over my shoulder to my daughter, “Is that you?”
“Is that me what?” asked Miss11, who occupied the seat directly behind me.
Something jabbed me again.
“Shoving your foot into my bum.”
“What!” she squawked, and suddenly whatever it was stopped prodding me.
“Were you shoving your foot between the crack in the seat?”
There was a pause.
“Well, you were digging it into my bum.”
There was a longer pause.
“Your butt cheek?” she asked tentatively. Hopefully.
I smiled. Sometimes I love being a dad. Like when life hands you gems.
“Did you have your shoes on?”
And some days those gems are diamonds.
“Then you’ll be pleased to learn,” I chuckled, “that it was my butt crack.”
“Pull over!” she yelled, before continuing in a pleading sort of voice, “Da-aad…pleeeease. I really need to wash my foot.”
If you enjoyed this post please share, like or comment.
It really does make a difference Thanks.
“Raising a family on little more than laughs”