After recovering from the initial shock that you are the only parent in a room full of twenty minors, you soon realize the advantages to accompanying your kids on a day of Laser Tag.

1. You are a good foot taller than anyone else in the room.
2. You are a good foot wider than anyone else in the room.
3. Your deep voice carries a certain amount of authority.
4. Your size makes you an excellent human shield.
5. Take one (or several hundred) for the team, Pops.  This is Laser Tag and the team needs you.

Sure I am now considered “used quality,” but still for the set of all four Paulsen boys, you would think we would fetch more than $1 million.  Jeesh, what a bargain!  #BestDayOffEver

Dear Retailer,

Thank you for helping me with my online Holiday purchase.  The gift was received in a timely fashion and I was pleased with the quality.  I see a bright future for our relationship.

At this time, however, I feel it important to be brutally honest with you.  You are smothering me.  The attention that you shower on me can never be reciprocated.  I feel inadequate.  Unable to even find the time to read, much less open, your voluminous correspondence.

Every day, you fill my inbox with a minimum of two letters.  This does not seem like much, but I have a confession to make.  I have been shopping with other stores.  Lots of other stores.  Stores here and abroad.  I have always been safe in my transactions, but they all feel it necessary to shower me with attention.  Take your attention and multiply it ten fold and you will begin to understand the pressure that I am under.

I know that with you it is not SPAM.  I never would say such a thing.  I know you take the time to customize.  I know you try to fulfill my every need.  It just feels like too much sometimes.  Too frequent.  Too forced.  When you contact me, it should be something special or at least something free.  No strings attached.  No desire for my money in return.  That’s what I desire from our time together.  That’s the bright future I see.

Now, don’t get all high and mighty with me.  I know for a fact that you have thousands of shoppers, who also frequent your doorstep.  Many of these same shoppers you shower with the same attention that you give me.  You must be exhausted.  All that being said, don’t pretend that I am someone who is extra special to you.  Yes, I know that each customer is precious and unique, but you play the game.  Don’t for a second pretend that is not the case.

As a result, I must request that you stop contacting me.  I don’t mean that it is over between us.  I will still show up unannounced and share a special retail moment with you.  I will still visit you online and order that something special.

We still have a future, just not exclusive, and not as intense.

Yours in the Truest Form of Capitalistic Love,

Dave

The YMCA located close to where I work was recently remodeled.  New basketball courts, exercise studios, and opening earlier this week, locker rooms.

The new locker rooms are spacious and functional.  Everything you would want in an area, where you rush to change clothes around strangers of the same sex.

Today, I went to the gym over lunch.  I ran on the treadmill and when I was finished, I went to shower up in the newly remodeled locker room.

All was normal.  I toweled off.  Got dressed.  Tried to look buff, but not like I was trying to look buff.  All the appropriate gym type activities.

Hoping to dry off my hair, I spotted a hand dryer mounted unusually high on the wall.  I would guess that it was about five feet off the ground.  There was another hand dryer mounted at “child height” right next to it.  Since my old gym had a “up high” hand dryer that was used for drying hair, I figured that was the case with this one, too.

Getting closer, there was something slightly wrong.  The five foot high hand dryer was set into the wall, instead of sticking out.  I shrugged my shoulders and figured that it was a design flaw.  I triggered the dryer with my hands and stuck my head into the wall.  It was a tight fit, but still functional.  Also, while I was in the dryer, I could not turn my head.  I needed to pull my head out of the wall and reinsert it to dry the other side.  Odd, but whatever.

Then two buff dad types, who I imagined just took their kids to the pool for a morning of fun (buff and good fathers at the same time, ugh, why must they torment me), walked by and gave me a “What the Hell is wrong with this guy?” look.  What?  Was something wrong?  With the hair dryer?  With me?

I looked around and was suddenly sad.  There by the sinks was an actual hair dryer.  Not a hand dryer located higher than usual on the wall, but an actual hair dryer, intended for actual hair and not hands.

Next up, I shall use the hair dryer to dry off my hands and then the buff dads will just think that I am “Opposite Guy.”  That or just a damn fool.  Either way, I went to the gym over lunch and that should count for something.

At work, we were comparing Christmas presents.  When my turn came around, I proudly declared that I received a really nice hoodie.  What makes it extra special is that Charlene dislikes it when I wear hoodies, so her purchasing me one really something.  She knows that I like wearing them, so she made a sacrifice and bought me one.  My heart melted.  I continued on to detail that it was blue, warm, and made of an exercise shirt type fabric…

That’s when my co-workers stopped me and with sad looks in their eyes informed me that the hoodie was actually Charlene’s attempt to get me to workout more.  Ugh.  Well played, my dear.

Although, come to think of it, I did get a hoodie out of the deal, so that qualifies as a win for Dave.  Plus, if I go to the gym.  Then if I go again.  If I keep going to the gym, this would mean the possibility for more hoodies in my future.  That would be worth it.  Again, well played my dear.  Well played.

Beware, as you read this.  Proceed, if you must.

This tale contains great drama.  You’re worthy, I trust.

In the light of the early morn, I tried to pull my socks high.

But, no matter the leverage, they would not raise with each try.

The elastic was dead.  The stretchiness given way.

There was no more yield.  The socks would be a trial today.

I gave a big yank and my foot finally fit.

The problem would come later, with my foot’s desired exit.

They were now stuck way up my leg.

Freeing my limbs, I did now beg.

The only way out, was with a patient roll.

There’s something to be said for this virtue I rarely extol.

So be warned, those who hear.

Beware of your socks, I do fear.

For in a blink, in a wash, in a fateful turn.

Socks may lose their elasticity, the one thing I yearn.

We had nearly perfect timing for the morning.  Managed to encourage the kids to sleep late.  Emptied the stockings.  Tore open a few presents.  Off to church at ten o’clock.

Christmas morning would have a first half of presents.  A church service halftime show.  A second half of presents and then lunch.  Perfection!

In order to get the extended family unit to church, we took two cars.  My wife headed out in the first car.  My Freestyle held the second crew, which was my boys and me.  With my 13-year-old riding shotgun, we engaged in an epic struggle over the car radio.  Christmas music versus pop songs.  Epic struggle, but a sign that all was right in the world.

Pulling into the church parking lot, I looked at a woman entering the building and remarked, “Wow!  She looks really good.  Merry Christmas, indeed!”

Stunned for a moment, my teenager soon realized that I was looking at his mom.  My wife.  A beautiful, talented, and fashionably bundled up for the weather woman (not to mention her amazing jeans that deserve their own exhibit in the “Saucy Wing” of the Smithsonian), who was walking into the church.

My son gave me a roll of the eyes and knowing grin.  An acceptance of his father’s humor and affection.

A grin.  So appropriate.  A grin to savor.  I was surrounded by blessings.  My kids and wife, not only tolerate me, but often find me genuinely somewhat almost amusing.  I could not ask for anything more for Christmas.  I already have everything I need.

Every year as I wrap gifts, I scrawl a little code on the back of each package.  It serves as my own little reminder of what is wrapped inside and helps refresh my aged mind regarding what I have already purchased.

Last night as I placed packages under the tree, my wife glanced at a package with her name on it.  Flipping it over, she read the code aloud, “WMEY NYLRQ.”  Giving it a moment’s thought, she said, “Great, I needed some new yoga pants.”

Ugh.  Back to the drawing board to create a new code for next year’s gifts.  Also, goodbye to my promising second career as a super top secret code developer.  I guess it’s best that I found out early.

This morning, I was bantering with my kids.  Every few minutes, I would get excited, tell the kids to stop talking, and listen intently.  Then after a few seconds of silence, I would say, “It’s the sound of reindeer!”  Like a lot of my home material, it was funny the first time.  Mildly amusing the second time.  By the third time, I was entertained just by the repetitiveness (an old Letterman trick, but the problem is that I am not Letterman, not even close), but my kids were just getting annoyed.

Any who, rather than appealing for me to stop the annoying behavior, my 13-year-old son went right to the top.  Yelling into the other room, my child asked, “Mom, please tell Dad to stop.  When you tell him, it works.”

Rats!  My kids have figured out my Kryptonite.  Ask Mom and she’ll put an end to my antics.  Kids, just remember that with great power comes great responsibility.  Use your powers wisely or else I’ll make you listen for reindeer.

Getting ready for work, I was sitting on the side of my bed in my boxer briefs putting on my socks.

My son walked in to report a problem with the toilet that would require immediate attention.

Sad that I had not even completed putting on my socks before the morning toilet crisis, I realized something promising.  I was close to a realistic fitness goal.  A level of fit that would suit me and my station in life.  A body that could be attainable by summer.  Yes, I could be “Dad Sexy.”

Not “Movie Star Sexy.”  Not “Young Guy Sexy.”  Not “Super Fit Guy Sexy.”  “Dad Sexy,” the kind of look when springing from the bed in underwear and a single sock, people say, “Oh, he looks okay, maybe even kind of cute.  Plus, he is dependable and a good family man.  Yes, he is all sorts of ‘Dad Sexy.'”

Some 2017 exercise.  Some 2017 diet.  Watch out, world.  This man’s about to have a bod that’s all sorts of “Dad Sexy.”

Little Cheerio left upon the stairs

Little Cheerio, pick you up, who dares?

Wait another Cheerio, they come in pairs?

What another Cheerio, who’s eating upstairs?

Children pass it.  No one even cares.

Dog passes it.  Sorry, state of affairs.

Must clean it up.  We shall not live like bears.

Two lonely Cheerios, in your pain I shares.