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Sunday, September 18, 2011

Dear Future-Maybe-Son,

    I know, it seems, I spend a lot of time writing to your sister.  It's only because I know in my heart that you will be wild.  Don't get me wrong- you will be polite.  You will know how to sit and listen during story hour.  You will not (I repeat- NOT) watch wrestling.  You will say please, excuse me, and thank you.

But you will still be wild.

     I know, when it comes to you and your letters, I have to choose my words very wisely so as to not lose your attention.  You see, in my experience, sons are not like daughters.  This blog, for you, will be a passing glance- where as your sister, I imagine, will pour over the pages much like girls like to leaf through their mother's yearbooks and try on their wedding dresses.

With that being said, I'll make this snappy.

At this point, you probably think I'm kind of yucky.  Not in a "gross" or disrespectful kind of way, but more like, "I can't believe my parents are kissing/ my-mom-is-a-girl-and-girls-have-cooties."

However, right now, I am still kind of cool.

You're going to have to trust me on this one.

Unfortunately, this story will just reinforce my yuck-i-ness, I'm afraid. But there is a point.  And we will get there in time.

     You see, the other night, I waxed my toes.  That's right.  Help me remember, on your sister's 5th birthday, to remind her that whatever hair you shave, you better be prepared to maintain it for the rest of your ever-loving-life.  This warning cannot come soon enough.  At one point in time, I thought my toes were hairy.  15 years later, I'm thinking they probably weren't that bad.


So, I waxed.  It did not end well.  My toes were covered in sticky, warm goo.  And fuzz.

That's right. Like brown-bath-towel-pajama pants-fuzz.

So, I had to ask your dad for help.  Is there a more humbling experience?  I don't know.

Nothing worked.  Fingernail polish remover.  Rubbing Alcohol.  At one point, I wondered what cold, harsh-smelling substance was being sprayed on my feet only to realize your father had a bottle of Tilex.

I suggested peanut butter.  After all, it works with gum/hair/clothing, right?

The logic was sound.

 We were willing to try anything.

Surprisingly, It worked (my money was on the nail polish remover).  And I am forever grateful.

So, sweet child o' mine, I want to encourage you to be A Man.  Be protective.  Be resourceful.  Put your arm around her waist when you are crossing the street.  Walk her to her car.  Call her back.  Call her back.  Call her back.

But also be sure that you are sensitive and silly and gracious enough to spread peanut butter on her toes when she is in desperate need of some un-stick-ing.

And don't breathe a word during the process.


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