Yup. Even on a Sunday. I punished my son by washing the dishes before I left for Church. So when we got home from church, it was my son’s job to put away all the clean dishes. See? I’m the Punisher.
No, not that Punisher. I’m an antihero, an irritant to my family. Next I’ll take out the trash and make my daughter fold her laundry.
See? I’m a harsh task master, And then, later I’ll demand affection from my wife. I just heard her audibly eye roll, and I’m thinking to myself, halfway out loud, “…like that’s ever gonna happen.” If you ever saw Shrek, you’ll know, I said that because “I’m an ogre. (“AAARRRRRRRRGGGHHH!”)”
So there you go. I’m an awful specimen of masculinity. Horrible husband. Worse father. That is, once you get past all the animal magnetism and raw appeal.
Animal magnet-ism doesn’t specify what kind of animal. I also like Eeyore, because I may be an ass but I didn’t specify which one.
I may be another kind of animal. It’s just possible I’m crackers.
Again, not saying. If I’m animal crackers, maybe Mrs. M. will nibble a bit around the edges. But I don’t think I’ll hold my breath until that happens. Though it might be dreamy.
Yeah, yesterday she pissed me off and today I’m all hopeful again. While the more realistic inner cynic is still smirking, ogreish, “Yeah right! Like that’s ever gonna happen!
See, kids?! This is what a fairy tale romance looks like when you peel back the oppulence hand have to deal with reality. “Ogres don’t live ‘happily ever after.'”
It’s a lot of work. Especially if you’re an ogre.