“You’re going to love the soiree tonight,” I told Tracey pointedly this morning.
A passerby would assume a flock of geese have descended on our household. It’s all very Jumanji here with some very sick sounding bird calls throughout the house as Master10 and Miss11 prepare to dazzle on stage with their clarinets.
It’s like they’re cramming three months of practice into an hour. Actually, that’s exactly what they’re doing because the little shits never practice.
Another geese-like squawk attempted too rupture our ears.
“You’re taking them,” Tracey told me. She wasn’t asking.
“But I had to do it last ti-,” I started to say, but then thought the better of it and changed tact. “I mean I got to enjoy it last time. It’s your turn.”
Tracey desperately tried to explain she needed to work tonight, editing photos.
“You have to take time out of your day to enjoy the little things,” I said, attempting to tap into the Mothers’ Guilt I know lies just beneath the surface of half the Earth’s population. “Family first.”
I had this in the bag.
No, I didn’t.
Tracey played her trump card.
“You know that old expression, ‘there’s nothing sexier or more desirable than a father who takes their kids to a soiree’?”
“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s true,” she assured me.
“I guarantee it’ll work.”
“You’re sounding great, guys!” I yelled out to the kids. “Really looking forward to tonight!”
“Raising a family on little more than laughs”
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