Hallmark demands you rush out and buy and ugly tie. Perhaps experiment with fingerpaint to stamp the hands and feet of your mini-me on a rectangular-ish pillow. Because what says I honor your male parenting abilities and celebrate fatherhood more than a cartoon character on a card vaguely insinuating sexual acts. (Although really, that is how you got into this situation in the first place. Just sayinâ€™. And also, I found this rather unsettling as I searched for a card to send my own father â€“ not my husband.)
HAPPY FATHERâ€™S DAY!
The muppetsâ€™ fabulous father took the boys to the aquarium last week. FISHIES! (This is obviously not a winecone.) The boys developed an instant passion for all things marine biological that a toddler can comprehend. As a result, we have just concluded the 872 viewing of Finding Nemo. Itâ€™s not Cailou â€“ but Iâ€™m wineconing the cute little clown fish anyway.
â€œGasp! He touched the butt!â€ (Itâ€™s from the movieâ€¦Just go with me.)
Getting spam texts at 2 a.m. Not cool. Who are you people who still click on these things?!
Editorâ€™s note: Spam texts deserve a coning regardless of the hour. CONE OF SHAME! But 2 a.m.? That one gets a double-speared spikey winecone â€“ take out the spammer and the morons who respond to middle of the night calls for international lottery winnings. May the spammers be punished with an eternity of babies startled awake to interrupt their slumber.
I can’t make the kid next door volunteering for us to go home even though he gets progressively more sick every day. I told him yesterday if he wasn’t feeling well to go home. He goes oh I’m just getting sick, I’ll be fine. I’m getting better. Today instead of sniffles (I put a box of tissue in his office). He’s hacking up a lung. Don’t make me call hazmat. He’s going to get us all sick. And then I’ll have to kill him.
Editorâ€™s note: And that would be a bummer for everyone. Go. Home. You incubator of the bubonic plague. To clarify â€“ if youâ€™re getting sick youâ€™re at the height of contagion. And also, that means youâ€™re not getting better yet. Youâ€™re still on the upswing of that bell curve. Winecone quarantining the contaminator.
That little â€œRemember Meâ€ checkbox. Y U NO REMEMBER?!
Editorâ€™s note: OmigawdINoRite?! It seems every website has that tiny little checkbox teasing that you can stay signed in (unless youâ€™re on a public computer, of course). But never, ever, never do I get remembered. Am I really that forgettable? A winecone at that box. But I donâ€™t have high hopes that even that will get you remembered.
I began this post making fun of Fatherâ€™s Day. So hereâ€™s a serious smackaroo shout out dads and those guys who have made a tremendous impact on our lives. A kiss to Jon for putting up with me for these past 10 years (and following nurses around with apologies in the great quest to bring the muppets to this world). And of course, a kiss to my own crazy dad â€“ even if Winecone Wednesdays are the blog posts he doesnâ€™t read because he doesnâ€™t understand them.
I love you anyway, dads!
â€˜Till next week, winecones and kisses!
PS. This your first wineconing? Welcome. Grab a glass and click here for an explanation of what in name of Jeebusâ€™ weâ€™re talking about.