I forgot my razor in Utah. Because that’s how I roll. (Did I ever explain that after taking the train to Portland I drove 14 hours in the car with my brothers and parents to Utah and that’s where I visited my grandma?)
Wife ran and bought me one (thus breaking the Sabbath, but the ox was in the mire, people. Or my face looked ridiculous. One of those two things) and brought it back for me.
When she handed it to me, she came in close to whisper something about potty training Viva (it’s time… pre-school is imminent)(also, there’s really nothing more tantalizing than the whisperings of your lover about teaching your almost-three-year-old how to put her poopoo in the potty) and in the middle of her discussion of the purchase of diapers and not wanting to change any more poopy diapers, she stopped short.
Wife: Oh, holy crap, you have a gray hair.
Me: Another one?
Wife: (screams) You have a crop of them! There’s a whole section of gray hairs.
Me: Really? Are you serious?
Wife: (picking at my head) I’m totally serious! One, two, three, four…(counts up to fourteen)
Me: Stop. I’ve gotta see this. (walks to the bathroom.) I can’t believe I have a patch of gray hair.
Anna who recently looked at our gray-haired doctor and said “your hair is white. That means you’re really old”: You have gray hair, Daddy? That means you’re old. (starts getting upset) I don’t want you to get old!
Me: I’m not that old, sweetie. I’m just a little bit old.
Wife: (pointing at my head in the mirror) See? It’s a patch.
Me: I have a patch of gray hair. A patch.
Anna: You’re going to die soon.
Me and wife: ….?
Anna: (Starts singing) You’re going to die soon, you’re going to die soon…
I don’t think there’s any better way to celebrate father’s day than to have your eldest daughter sing a song about how “you’re going to die soon” upon hearing about your first patch of gray hair.
Happy father’s day, guys!
Also, gratuitous photo time. These are from Anna’s violin recital yesterday.