Mark has been delighting lately in his ability to embarrass our daughters. Maj goes insane. Kallan goes insane as well, but Kallan?
She fights back.
The three of us are standing outside of a store, waiting for Maj to complete her purchases within. Mark starts singing a song (badly) and dancing. Not really dancing, exactly . . . just that sort of upper-body sway and arm-swing thing that dorky dads do sometimes.
Kallan rushes at him and pins his hands to his sides, “Stop that, Daddy! You are humiliating me!”
Mark pulls his arms free and raises his hands above his head . . . continues swaying to some unheard dorky dad beat, “What? What’s wrong with dancing? I’m just happy and dancing and moving to the music.”
Kallan leaps frantically against him, reaching for his arms, “Stop that! There is no music! People can see you, you know! You are not invisible! I am humiliated! Is that what you want?”
He leans down and kisses her head, “Yup. More than anything. That’s part of the joy of being a dad.”
He hugs her, picks her up as she squirms in embarrassment, “And guess what else? I am going to get one of those T-shirts that says I Love My Daughter. And it will have an arrow on it that points to you.”
She shrieks in horror.
He puts her down, “And guess what else? I am going to get you a matching T-shirt that says I Love My Daddy, and it will have an arrow that points to me! Won’t that be awesome? You and me, all loving one another. With arrows.”
She shrieks again and dances before him, “But guess what? When we wear these shirts together? I will move to the other side of you. Like this,” and she dances to the other side of Mark.
She looks up him triumphantly, “and from over here? My arrow will point away from you, and I will be able to claim any random normal dad who passes by. Ooooh . . . there’s the Daddy I love! And there! And there!”
She jumps and leaps as she acts out the arrow-pointing that she will be doing at more normal fathers than her own.
Kallan kills me.
So I try to help Mark out, “Oh, babe! You should get a T-shirt with a photo on it! A picture of Kallan!”
Mark is delighted, “Yes! Then there will no confusion! And above the photo will be the words I Love My Baby Girl.”
Kallan shrieks again, “Don’t call me baby girl! Don’t say baby.”
He reaches for her again, “But you are my baby girl . . . Baby Girl.”
Kallan turns sassy again, “OK, then. I will also get a T-shirt and it will have your photo on it, Daddy. And above your photo? Will be these words . . . I Love My Baby Daddy. See how you like it.”
I love my baby daddy?
I . . . am . . . dead.
Oh my god. Kallan kills me.
We collect Maj and drive to the next of our errands.
At our next location? For some reason, Mark is unable to correctly pull the car into the parking space, and he hits the curb not once, not twice, but three times as he maneuvers. I am laughing hysterically.
Because, people? He is not trying to parallel park. He is just trying to make a sharp right turn and pull forward into a space that is sided by curb. My mocking laughter flusters him so completely that he finally abandons that parking space. Heads across the lot to a larger uncurbed space.
Which sends me right over the edge. So fucking funny.
Mark is annoyed, “OK, ladies. If Dummy Mommy can get it together, let’s get this last bit of shopping done.”
Dummy Mommy?
Snort!
I lean over into his space, “Sweet-talking you! I love you!”
I touch his cheek with my palm, “I love my baby daddy!”
Snort!
And then from Kallan . . .
“Wait . . . what?”
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