I want to read someone’s master’s thesis on this phenomenon.
If anyone gifts my 5-yr-old an object that makes or plays music, I will personally see to it that Santa takes a giant shit in their stocking.
This should also include a DVD of hundreds of episodes of “Scooby-Doo” in case he gets sick and needs you to help him sip Gatorade.
My child is at school which means she is not attached to my body which means I can take a moment to entertain myself.
Gifts with a little more warmth than anything plastic or sporting a screen.
A roundup of ideas for the father who probably isn’t 73 years old and would rather write a letter in his own blood than spend $45 on a pen.
If anything just call her up and say, “I’m so sorry for everything.” She’ll know immediately who it is.
I know he’s begging for another cat, but you are the voice of reason in his life. None of these things require a litter box.
Stun her with a bracelet or a monogramed jewelry box or a purse or, you know, let her cry without asking if she’s taken her medication or if she’s on her period.
I suddenly looked up and, oh. Christmas is next week. Next week. Or, as Leta puts it, THE FARTHEST AWAY ANYTHING HAS EVER BEEN!