I Need You Maury Povich!!!

Yesterday I was changing out of my work clothes in my room, when the boy came in and said, “daddy…I looove math.” I immediately got tears in my eyes, fell to my knees, and started sobbing. I knew right then and there….he couldn’t be my child.

I mean...just look at us both side by side!!

I rest my case.

So, I collected myself, rose to my feet…gave him a huge hug and said, “I’m proud of you. Keep it up…not everyone rocks like you do at math.” Then I walked passed him to find that hussy wife of mine.

She was on the computer in the basement…or should I say, her love communicator machine….when I found her. I said, “woman, we need to talk.”

She looked annoyed and said, “please stop calling me woman…and broad…that’s just so..”

“Look, this is more important right now. Tell me who the real dad is damn it,” I interrupted.

She shook her head and went back to what she was doing. “I’m serious!!!,” I yelled.

“What the hell are you talking about now?!”

“Grayson just said he likes math,” I belted out.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“You know, for years people have asked me, ‘where does your son’s red hair come from,’ and I’ve always joked saying, ‘the mailman I guess.’ And now he comes to me saying he loves math when I still think 2 + 2 = 3. What gives? Who’s the boy’s pop?”

“You seriously need help,” she said while giving me a dramatic pause, death look, followed by a “you’ve got 3 second to disappear before I fucking cut you” look.

I ran upstairs, kicked the cat out of my way, grabbed a beer, opened it and threw the bottle cap at our framed wedding invitation, snagged the laptop and immediately typed into Google, “Maury Show.” I was determined to get answers and if anyone could knock out a paternity test, Maury Povich could.

As I started plowing through the Maury website, desperately trying to figure out how to send that daytime TV god an email, Grayson came walking by and sat down to watch TV. I glanced up at him, then back at the screen…then back at him. He had those kick-ass freckles all over his cheeks and nose. It reminded me of when kids at school made fun of my freckles and would try to draw on me like they were connecting the dots. I smiled and chuckled cause the little bastard just couldn’t sit still…kinda like me. Then he did his little thing he does with his hands, something I spent half my childhood doing.

He could feel I was looking at him, so he looked at me and that’s when I saw those massive ears…the ones I clearly genetically burdened him with. That’s when it clicked…..my wife didn’t bang the mailman. She didn’t wanna keep me from ever duplicating any part of my idiotic self and hit the sperm bank. This little punk was mine…all mine!

I threw the computer off my lap, stood up and hugged the little guy. “I love you man,” I said.

As I put him down, the daughter came walking through with a stick doing some weird throwing motion. I said, “whatcha doin’ baby?”

“I’m playing lacrosse daddy..I love lacrosse!,” she said.

I immediately fell to my knees, started shaking….and crying….then got up and stormed back down stairs….