I’m sitting at work, wrapping up a phone conversation with Michael’s Mommy. We’ve been discussing something earth-shattering like whether or not she should pick up French bread to go with dinner, as our chat wraps up.
“Well, I’m at the UPS drop off place. I’ll talk with you later,” she concludes.
“Okay. Love you hon,” I return.
(note to husbands: never let a phone conversation with or email to your wife end without telling her that you love her. It’s good for both of you.)
Then I hear Michael jabbering insistently in the background. My wife says something to him, and then comes back on the line.
“He wants to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
“Hi Daddy!” Michael says.
“Hi, Michael.”
“What’s your name?”
“What do you think it is?”
“Daddy!”
“That’s right.”
“I’m going to be a man just like you!” From the recesses of my mind, Harry Chapin begins singing about a cat in a cradle.
“Okay, that’s great,” I start, about to ask him how his day is going. Then I hear a fumbling sort of noise, and his mom comes back on the line.
“He’s done,” she reports.
Thus, I am dismissed.
Q: How do you know when you’re done talking with Michael?
A: You don’t. Michael gets done with you.
We Should get you a T-Shirt that says “I serve at the pleasure of the pre-schooler.
It should probably be a butler’s uniform.