Yummy Mummies, I have a confession to make. I am not a mummy. I'm not a mother, mommy or even a ma. I am, truth be told, a man. A dad.
I'll give you a minute to let that settle in.
For the past seven months I have walked among you, metaphorically speaking, learning your ways and attempting to understand your very unique culture. The more astute among you may have noticed the hints I left that pointed at my true identity: the curious name of this very blog... references to my favourite father's day tradition... the most dialed in may even have been tipped off by the whole discussion about my penis.
But I suspect most of you read this blog completely unaware that the author was more dopey dad than yummy mum. Don't blame yourself, gentle reader. I am well versed in the art of gentle deception. After all, I work in marketing.
So why out myself now? Because friends, Father's Day is nearly upon us and — if what mainstream advertisers are telling me is true — I am about to cash in big time. Golf outings. BBQ accessories. Power tools. Landscaping implements. Basically anything and everything that might remind me of what life was like before I had a kid.
And isn't that what Father's Day should be all about? I feel bad for those mothers getting those adorable handmade cards and poorly-made breakfasts in bed on their special day, spending quality time with their offspring — I want to be honoured for my role as a parent by getting the heck out of the house! I mean, I already spend two full days per week — Saturday and Sunday — spending time with my daughter. That's, like, 104 days every year. And that doesn't include holidays!
I think I've earned a day on the golf course and a new weed whacker. Don't you?
Photo Credit: Kaptain Kobold via Compfight cc
Printer-friendly version