Fatherhood is Distasteful
My nearly-teenaged niece was visiting my nearly-teenaged daughter this weekend. Much girly giggling in the living room while everyone was getting ready for church. I had just showered after chicken chores and was in the kitchen getting some food when my niece came in the kitchen with a slim aerosol bottle. “Try this,” she said. “It fizzes!”
I extended my finger and she sprayed a little curl of foam on the pad, and indeed the foam popped and fizzed. A-ha, I thought, someone has finally combined the chemistry of Pop Rocks with the technology of aerosol cheese. I shook my head in the old I’ll-be-danged manner, and popped the finger in my mouth.
Later, when I got done rinsing and spitting and rinsing and spitting and pawing at my mouth like a dog with a lip-full of quills, and when the hysterical teenaged giggling subsided, I had a look at the can:
“WILD APPLE DAFFODIL SHIMMER FIZZ BODY MOUSSE”
Setting aside for a moment the idea that a man who would eat WILD APPLE DAFFODIL SHIMMER FIZZ BODY MOUSSE is in charge of the keeping and raising of daughters, let us consider that this same man, who considers himself moderately well-read and traveled was utterly ignorant of the existence of SHIMMER FIZZ BODY MOUSSE of any formulation, and is officially prepared to tender his letter of resignation as soon as he can figure out where to mail it. Why do I get the feeling that the road ahead is nothing but high-speed hairpins overlooking an endless canyon?
P.S. In her defense, please note that at no time did my niece suggest I actually eat the stuff.
P.P.S. On the back of the can, where it says “NOT TESTED ON ANIMALS”? No longer true.
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