Three weeks ago:
DADDY: I got us “Dora the Explorer: Live” tickets.
MOMMY: Cute! Memories for a lifetime!
DADDY: With the upgraded “meet Dora backstage” passes!
MOMMY: This will be so fun!
During the concert:
DADDY: Good thing we paid extra for backstage passes. So many lines! And screaming! And airborne illnesses! Yay!
MOMMY: Our child knows all the words to these songs. He watches too much TV. We are terrible parents.
DADDY: The venue parking alone cost more than we put in his RESP this month.
MOMMY: Is apple juice and half a churro a balanced dinner…?
DADDY: Oh good. It’s over. OHMYGODIT’SONLYINTERMISSION.
MOMMY: I’m so tired. I might die of tired. Please play an acoustic version of “I’m the map” at my funeral. What time is it? Like 4am?
DADDY: It’s 6:45pm.
MOMMY: Let’s never do this again.
The next day:
DADDY: Sesame Street Live is coming next month.
MOMMY: Cute! Let’s do it.
DRINK: The School of Rock. Remember your pre-kid concert days and pour a warm domestic beer into a red Solo cup. Turn up the Weezer and sing along with these parental advisory lyrics: “If you want to destroy my sweater / draw on it with permanent marker / puke organic cranberry juice on it / leave your crayons in the dryer / pull this thread and just walk away…”
