Background: Our five-year old daughter, Sissy, regularly practices grabbing mom's cell phone and dialing her grandma, aunt, or anyone else on the Mrs.' programmed list who will chat with her.
"That'll be $23.07."
"Sure," I reply as I pay the man behind the counter.
It is a good thing the little ones don't consume much pizza yet; soon, I'll realize the full fiscal impact of a family carry-out dinner.
"Here, you go sir. Have a good night," the employee adds as he hands me the boxes and bags that comprise our order.
I get everything balanced between my arms, hands and chin, and turn to exit the restaurant.
My cargo shorts emit the annoying classic bell tone of my cell.
"What timing," I mumble knowing that I better answer it in case of an urgent message from the family that includes additional marching orders.
I place the pizzas on a side table, fish the phone from the third pocket I try amidst an unused diaper, Kleenexes, wipes, a folded sheet of paper about what I can't remember, keys, and wallet, and respond to the call with a hasty "Hello."
"You're stupid daddy."
"Uh, yes, hi Sissy. What do you all need?"
"You are stupid."
"You just called to say that?"
"Ok, see you in a few." I end the call, grab my pile, and with little grace or dexterity, stumble to my car.
Yes, father and daughter bonding--treasured memories that will last a lifetime.
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