Apparently, it’s wrong to book a stripper as entertainment for a two-year-olds birthday party.  But you know what else is wrong?  Giving me a task connected in any way with a two-year-olds birthday party.

I love my daughter, but we both know once I think "Wouldn’t it be funny if-"… well, no one ended up in jail so it wasn’t as bad as other things I’ve been in charge of.  Remember the Christening?  The part where I suddenly yelled "wait a second! Jews don’t do this!"?  I knew that was wrong almost immediately after I said it.  That’s why I faked a seizure.  I know, I know, when I faked a seizure after checking the pastor at our wedding for a hernia you asked me not to do it again, and I can’t say I forgot exactly, I just didn’t have another exit strategy handy.  I kept meaning to get around to writing one, but after you vetoed keeping that fat metal guy on retainer, I just kind of procrastinated.  I still say you were wrong.  There’s nothing like a fat, naked mental guy to distract a crowd.  Just have ‘em eat a big old sub sandwich with extra Mayo and no one can look at anything else.

And honestly, wasn’t Great Uncle Earnest’s eulogy enough to convince you that trusting me with a two-year-olds birthday party was an uninsurable risk?  And what idiot asked me to ‘say a few words’, anyway?  It certainly isn’t what Ernie would have wanted; he hated me not to mention I owed him money.  In my defense though, I think pretty much everyone knew I was
kidding.  I mean, anyone who knew the old guy well was familiar with his hatred of Communists, and the Communist party, small as it is in America, has never been big tent enough to embrace transvestitism in any case.  It was a good story, but not what you’d call credible.  And if the bereaved hadn’t secretly liked my words of comfort, I’m sure they have stopped me before I took off my shirt.  You know what?  Now I’m thinking about it?  No one actually asked me to give a eulogy.  They just said ‘if anyone has any words they’d like to share’.  Okay, skip that example.

I mean, try to look at this from my point of view.  If I’d been born with one arm and you were constantly saying, "I cannot depend on you to win a game of tennis!", well, that wouldn’t be nice, would it?  And she was a very classy stripper and I think before the grown ups all started
screaming the kids were having an okay time.  I remembered to get some fake ice cream for the lactose intolerant Johnson kid, doesn’t that count for anything?  I mean what if I’d forgotten about it and then lied and served it to him anyway?  I bet a lot of Dad’s would do that.  And
don’t start with me about the year before again, because yes, you told me he had a peanut allergy, but you didn’t say he had a peanut butter allergy and peanuts and peanut butter are not the same thing.  Honestly, I can’t believe his parents brought him again.  You want my opinion?  They don’t like him.  Join the club, I say!

You know what your problem is?  You look at the bad side of things, and things have a good side too.  If the stripper hadn’t gone over so badly about a half-hour later we’d have done the piñata and THAT would have been a disaster.  I put hamburger in it.  And tomato sauce.  And broken up chicken bones.  And when some kid burst it open?  I was going to yell "OH MY GOD, FLUFFY!" and then start crying.

You know, now that you mention it, I think it is still hanging up.  And instead of deepening that old frown line, couldn’t you just add ‘clean up crew’ to the list of things I’m not so great at?

I mean, look at the things I AM good at, why don’t you?  Who else could have found a stripper willing to play a toddler party?  You want to put a fat mental guy on retainer?  I’m your go to guy.  Suppose for a moment you get called in to the office tomorrow and your boss says, "I need to know how you fill a piñata up with meat and sauce without tell tale leakage".  You’ll be pretty happy about me then, won’t you? (My secret?  Bread bags.)

So what do you say we get some kind of division of labor going here?  You do the organizational things, you know, bills, cleaning, cooking, the kids, our social arrangements and I totally promise to keep up with my medication, therapy and parole.  And I’ll keep a smile on your face.  I mean after all, why else do weep keep a fat mental guy on retainer?

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