Malcolm is a spirited little boy, and, if left to his own devices, he would spend his entire day eating chocolate, hitting people with bats, and calling me a “stupid noodle head.” To combat his tendencies, we have a variety of rules. 
If he violates the rules, he gets in trouble, ranging from going to his room to not getting to watch his favorite TV show, Little Bear. He is a habitual rule violator, and suffers the consequences every time he does.
I think I know where he gets it from, because today, at my stay at home dad’s group, I broke a lot of rules. The first rule we broke was the rule, announced by a large number of large signs around, that no alcohol was allowed at the park. We get this now and again at parks that do not want large groups of men sitting around drinking beer all day. Somehow, we have it in our heads that the people that made these rules would see things differently if the large groups of men sitting around drinking beer all day had kids with them. So, we ignore the rule, and are prepared to argue that many sections of Oakland’s Municipal Code do not apply to stay-at-home dads. Besides, the alternative to us sitting around drinking beer is for us to sit around and talk about our feelings, and goodness knows that is NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.
The second rule I broke was eating polish sausages that were past their expiration date. I question any expiration date for hot dogs, as, in my humble opinion, lips and assholes will never go bad. Also, the package said that they were “best by” September 5, and we cautiously accepted the fact that we were eating sausages that were not at their best. When I say “we,” I mean me and one other guy, as the rest of the group was sensible enough to stick to food that was not considered rotten by the rest of the world. (The other guy, Darren, and I decided to call each other tonight to check up on each other to make sure that we had not been done in by the spoiled weenies.)
The last rule I broke was self-imposed. I ate some chips. I am getting kind of chubby, so I have laid a rule down (for myself) to not eat any chips. In the past few months, every picture that I am in looks like I am carrying Malcolm’s unborn sibling, so I am trying to stick to fruit at dad’s group. This is quite difficult, for, if you haven’t noticed, potato chips look quite tasty. Today, after a couple handfuls of cantaloupe and watermelon, I began cramming potato chips down my piehole like they were going out of style. I stopped the chip parade only when the spoiled polish sausages came off the grill. (I don’t think that I am any better off for it, but at least I didn’t put the chips in the bun with the weenie.) I am anticipating that pictures for the next few weeks will look like we are having twins.
The question is, what punishment do I deserve? I decided to give myself the punishment that Malcolm always gets. I am not going to watch Little Bear today. I don’t really mind, though; Monday Night Football is on tonight. Now, the question is what to do with all those leftover polish sausages…
Tags: drinking, eating, parenting
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Expiration dates are for the timid and weak. Unless it's dairy, then I get pretty cautious. But sausage? Beer? Can o' beans? They never expire, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Good call on the Little Bear punishment, too. If you wanted to be tough on yourself you could have said you'd only watch MNF when the Colts were on offense.