Screwing Up Father’s Day: An Inevitable Tale
TODAY’S BREW: A helluva lot of K-cups. My coffee pot broke. I REPEAT: MY COFFEE POT BROKE.
I could name many things that are imminently approaching. Right now, I’m just naming one, because I fail at it every frigging year.
For Mother’s Day, moms expect lots of stuff. Peace and quiet, breakfast in bed, spa day, stuff like that. I don’t, I have my own preferences. New books, a movie, cake, a day walking around Cape Cod with my family. I may not get all of these things, but Tim makes a serious effort every year. Like, real deal effort.
Dads expect nothing. Because all they ever get is crap.
One year, I tried to set up a fishing date for the husband, and that didn’t work out. I did once make a miraculous breakfast, with a recipe and everything, and that went over well. Tim wears no ties, I can’t pick out his clothes, he doesn’t play golf, he doesn’t really read. Giving him photos of the kids is getting old. So what in the hell do I do?
I’d like to do something out of the comfort zone, something that says I put thought into it. Turns out, my thinking skills are piss poor. I got nothing. So, tell me, menfolk, what are your wishes for Father’s Day? Give me something to go on. I’m dying here. And like every other year, I’ll end up saying “sorry, I suck at this.”
I don’t want to suck at this.
Keep in mind, it’s my husband, Tim that I have trouble doing for. My stepfather is way too easy. Get the man a box of chocolate covered cherries and he’s king for a day. When my dad was alive, something with a Bruins logo on it, and he was pleased as punch. This guy? Tim is happy all the time, no matter what. How the fuck am I supposed to deal with that?
Gentlemen, don’t let me down here. I have work to do.