It's me; Ted. You know I usually try not to bother you, except for wishing A Rod would step in a gopher hole every now and then. Or thanking you daily for the fact I'm not yet on a first name basis with anyone in the local ER (for me, this is right up there with parting the Red Sea and not smiting Moses for naming one of his sons Ham).
And I've gotta say thanks for keeping my high blood pressure one step ahead of anything Rakes or Trot has done so far. Although I have to admit trying to potty train Trot has had me wondering if the shock paddles and ambulance ride were imminent.
As for tonight? I've got one small favor to ask. Ciera is 10 now, and talking about boys and dances and asking her Mom the sort of questions I've decided I'm better off not knowing what they are talking about.
She's getting ready to go to middle school and I'm debating on which type of hand gun I need to buy and whether or not to adopt camo as my official wardrobe for the next 10 years. Which brings me to the one little small favor I'd like to ask....
Can you give me amnesia for the next 8 years? I'm not talking about any Rip Van Winkle stuff where I pass out, wake up in 20 years, and wonder why everyone is wearing Timberland boots and listening to 50 Cent; just sort of let me sleep walk through her travels in puberty where I'm here when she needs me but I magically forget all the rest?
Considering I've got Rakes and Trot waiting in the wings, ready to light bottle rockets out of each others rear end and construct a skate board ramp off the roof of the garage onto the neighbors house across the street I really don't think I'm asking for all that much.
Whatever you decide I'm down with; just keep this in mind.
If some kid named Eric shows up in few years with his underwear hanging outside his jeans wanting to take my little girl out to the movies?
I won't be responsible for my actions.
But I hope you'll forgive me.