Our son now has a face mottled by second-degree burns thanks to a nanosecond of negligence on my part. What was I thinking, anyway, wanting to puree a goddamned soup? And why did he have to touch the button at EXACTLY the second I reached to prevent the harm that soon came to both of us (my second-degree burns are not on my face, although they probably should be because I feel like I should be wearing the freakin mark of Cain now). Somebody call Child Protective Services.

Not a good start. Seems like the jumped the line. Isn’t “Your sons are getting on my nerves” followed by, “Your sons are getting on my last nerves”.

Your lovely wife went right to the front of the sons/mother line. This does not bode well when the two lads are concocting mischief in their room. I suggest surveillance cameras secreted in one of their toys. It’s your job to keep the wife happy and alive.

I’ve also always been quite sure, that my daughter will never wear pink cloths and I’ll never buy her Barby dolls. Well… life goes in directions which we can’t predict.