I can’t deal with drama. This is a problem, since I live with the drama queen of all drama queens.
Like most men, I never really understood women. (If you want me to do something, why don’t you just ask me to do it?!) When my daughter was born, I thought that maybe since I’d be spending so much time with her, she might actually be the first one that made any sense to me.
Boy, was I wrong.
Last night we were rushing out of the house for soccer practice when Boogs went to fill up her bottle of water. Instead of the normal tap variety, however, she decided she wanted to bring along some flavored, carbonated water. So she asked me to open up the bottle of carbonated water for her so that she could then pour it into her own bottle. The thing is for some reason my wife told her that she couldn’t put the carbonated water in another bottle because it might explode from all the shaking. (Huh?) Oh well, whatever. We didn’t have time to discuss the laws of science.
Anyway, we finally start heading out the door when Boogs says something about how she can’t believe she has to carry this whole big bottle of carbonated water with her. So, trying to be a nice daddy, I take the bottle back to the kitchen and pour some of it in her normal water bottle, leaving enough room in it to prevent any type of “explosion.” Then I went back to the front door.
Immediately upon seeing what I did, my daughter, who just seconds before was all smiles, inexplicably breaks out into tears. “I didn’t tell you pour it in that bottle!” she cries. “I don’t know why you did that!” She then storms out the front door and goes off to pout in the car.
What just happened here?
Anyways, it was a silent, tension-filled ride to the soccer field, where Boogs went running off to her team, bottle of carbonated water in hand.
Fortunately there was no explosion. ~
Copyright © 2016 Valentine J. Brkich