I decided I'm going to do some current, up-to-the-minute, breaking news-type posts in addition to all of the 1990's Flashback ones. If I don't throw in some new posts with the old... well, I don't know what will happen. Just play along. Nod your head and pretend I'm making sense here.
A few weeks ago, Chad (now 12) had his Touch of Class Dance. It was a real date where we actually picked up his girlfriend Phoebe at her house, met her parents, threw a corsage on her wrist--all of that embarrassing stuff. (Embarrassing when you're 12. Or when you're the son of the over-involved mom who can't keep her ass in the car where it belongs.)
On the way to Phoebe's house, I was playing my Fergie CD, rocking out to "Fergalicious." I was making my boy go loco, but not in a good way.
He gave me that "Were you seriously ever cool?" look, and I said, "Hey, Chad -- do me a favor. If Fergalicious comes on tonight at the dance, think of me, okay?!" What on earth possessed me to request something so heinous is beyond me. Maybe I was feeling like I was playing second fiddle to adorable Phoebe; so much so, that insane things were spewing forth from my mouth.
Being the sweet, obedient child that he is, Chad smiled and said, "Okay." He then turned away, and in a panic-stricken voice, I could hear him quietly pleading: "Dear God, PLEASE don't play Fergalicious tonight. PLEASE."
I'm just doing my part to give him material for the eventual therapy he'll need.
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