It was a crappy day out today so me and the boys were stuck inside. I decided that I needed to do something other than vegetate in the house while trying not to strangle The Boy for his constant asking me ‘what?’ after everything I say like I’m married to him, while the Prodge whines and screams at me, like, well, I’m married to him. I pile the boys in the car and do a run the Charles’ Place, aka Chuck E. Cheese. The Boy immediately decides he wants to slaughter helpless dinosaurs without adult supervision which I think is a fantastic idea. I steal 5 tokens from him and hit the skee ball with The Prodge. I pick the last lane trying to avoid the younger crowd knowing before I even throw my first ball I’m the envy of the sub-12 crowd, with my abundance of pubic AND back hair. I deposit The Prodge on the floor next to me with instructions of watch and learn. I’m rolling, trying to find my grove when some little bugger tries to steal my tickets. I politely tell him ‘Listen you little bitch, tickets come out of the little dispenser to the left of your lane, touch my duckets again and 7 years old or not, I’m going to stomp a mud hole in your ass.’ I had no more issues with that kid afterward, actually he ran to his mother to tell her how great I was, I’m pretty sure at least. The Prodge all of a sudden starts acting like a baby and manages to pull himself up and is standing between my legs with his hands on the back of my knees and is crying. I ignore the shame of the patheticness that the fruit of my loins is trying to bring upon me and trudge on. With my final stolen token I roll 250 points with my first 3 balls. I am only 200 points away from the jackpot with 6 balls remaining. I’m about to put that smug little mouse out of fucking business. Even the Prodge manages to shut up to realize the greatness that he is in the presence of. Thinking of The Boy’s pirate booty of tickets that he already has, I decide to roll conservative in order to hit the jackpot. Ball #9 falls in the 40 hole for a total of 460, lights and sirens go off, I am the envy of every 8 year old in the joint. At one point I was embarrassed by my skill and the rewards I reaped from them, not even flipping off the grand mother who looked upon me with disdain. The bitch was just jealous, who could blame her?
I gather up The Boy and we go off to play more ‘childish’ games like a snowmobile game that The Boy likes. While he’s riding and sucking mind you, this older single mom who obviously saw my dominance on the skee ball lanes asks me if her little brat can get beat by The Boy next game. I’m like sure. She immediately busts into small talk asking me if I’m here alone, I respond with ‘Do I look like some sort of a perv, I brought my two boys.’ She tells me how she thinks that’s great and what not and then follows up with ’so are you a stay at home dad?’. I literally have to ask her to say this 3 times because either a) she’s a woman and I ignore what she says, or b) the term ’stay at home dad’ is so foreign to me, I have no clue what it means. I finally get the question and respond no, I not only hold a job, I skee ball a 460, and I’m a super dad, bow to my greatness. The Boy finally shows an ounce of worth and I admit to myself I haven’t wasted the past 6 years of my life raising him when he blows off the skank’s brat to play in the Chuck E. Cheese playground of all places. He disses her to climb the 3 steps that lead you to the toddler slider. He’s a disappointment most of the time, but he showed in no uncertain terms that her kid didn’t rate by even his subpar standards. A typical wingman would have politely come up with an excuse that his brother shit his pants or something, The Boy showed true balls by going to play in the toddler jungle gym. He all but flipped her off. He may be my son after all.
I don’t think you can get a more heartwarming tale of father and sons but what do I know?
I only wish this was untrue…
