Father's Day Was Yesterday and It's Not Yesterday Anymore

The Child was squeamish about hugging her Father Figure this morning.  She hinted that the FF smelled.  As in (and in the interest of an accurate record we quote her here word-for-word), "You smell, dad." 

Now, another man might have been angry and another man might have been hurt.  Not me.  I just thought, "Geez!  Father's Day was yesterday.  Welcome back to the other 363."

 You get, you see, two days a year.  Unless you are not so lucky as to have gotten married and to have had a child.  If that's the case, you only get one. 

You get your birthday and you get either Mother's Day or Father's Day.  They are your days.  Enjoy 'em, don't ask for another one.

Now, unless it's her day, Laura, who I feel is quite human in this regard, which is to say she is just like everybody else, barely suffers them.  Well, let me clarify that.  She's okay with the birthdays and she's okay with the Mothers Day.  She puts up with the Father's Day.

And when it is done, it is done.  I am actually  surprised she doesn't wake me at 12:01am on the day after Fathers Day to unburden herself of the (legitimate) gripes concerning her Father Figure which may include, but which are not limited to: his crude, boorish behavior; his poor attitude; his "could-use-a-little-work" physical appearance; and, evidently, his horrific smell.  Concerns which have piled one upon the other, ever-growing in the course of Father's Day when she must, by custom and decorum, remain mute...

Rest assured that all of these are nothing more than the shortcomings she observes in the FF on any ordinary day.  What makes this different  is that on an ordinary day she would prefer to share her concerns (and, necessarily, the opportunity for the subject, me, to better himself) in real time.  That is to say,  either as such shortcomings occur or as such shortcomings first become apparent to her or as such shortcomings from any preceding time, EVER, are recalled.  These, and I am fairly certain of this, she keeps in a (large) mental file which she has titled:  "Dad!  You Are Such A Loser!" 

Well, I sniff, time will tell about that.  But about the smell thing which kicked off this dissertation, I knew she was wrong.  I don't smell.  Not badly, at any rate.

I don't, for example, smoke.  I haven't for over ten weeks.  (Pat on the back huzzah  to self). 

I'd showered only the day before.

And the golf shirt I was wearing was freshly laundered.  I'd only worn it one other day.

So, what's she talking about?  I gave the golf shirt a big whiff.  "What are you talking about?  I asked.  "I smell like shirt, not sh....oh, never mind."