Fine...I'll Confess...

True confessions…when I get nervous, my butt sweats.

There, I’ve said it and it’s out there for the world to know.

Headed in to a job interview…I can feel my ass sweat. The first date I had with the wife when we were 16…moist ass. Minutes away from giving a presentation to board members…you guessed it…wet butt.

It’s not a nasty swamp-ass kind of sweat. It’s like your armpits sweating, but just on the cheeks of my ass and without all the hair and stench. Actually…it’s nothing like armpit sweat.

The worst thing about it is if I’m sitting down whilst getting nervous, a lovely couple of wet spots appear on the back of my pants. So when I stand up, I get even more nervous and self-conscious about the fact I now look like my ass peed itself.

So I end up trying to walk in angles that won’t allow people to see my drippy butt marks.

When I was in college I’d wear basketball shorts under my regular shorts because it was normal after class to pass by friends on their way to play ultimate Frisbee, flag football, basketball, and I wanted to be ready to hop in the car and go.

It was during that time I realized they provided a Maxi-Pad-like protection against the ass moisture. I was invincible!!

I could plan to streak the next football game and kick-back, enjoying my nervousness without having to worry about my friends having to carry my damp underwear back to the police station with them to pick me up.

But I couldn’t go on living life wearing two pairs of pants forever.

So now I worry about passing this godforsaken trait on to my kid. Will he someday find himself sitting next to a really pretty girl and suddenly realize an uncomfortable dampness?

The poor guy already has my big ears, gapped front teeth, uncontrollable thick hair, Tourettes. I just hope to hell he was spared the ass-sweats.

And just to let you know how hard it was for me to reveal this little fact, I’m going to have to go change my shorts now. And no…not for the good reason.

So there…now I’ve revealed what my body does when I get nervous…now it’s your chance. Man-up and tell me what yours does!! Sweaty armpits, back sweat, habitually glance at pictures of Gary Busey? Whatever you do, let’s hear it!!

F-You Daddy!

The wifey and I have had a long-time agreement that when it comes to things like making the kids’ lunches for school, putting them to bed, giving them baths, cleaning their puke off the ceilings, etc…we take turns. And it’s a beautiful thing, this agreement is. Only catch is, the boy loves to have me lay in bed with him and talk once the lights are turned out. So, while I never get a night off, the flip side is that I’ve built an incredible level of trust with him.

In fact, I’ve kind of become his shrink. He lays there, bares his soul, then looks to me for advice. And while I may or may not be the most top-notch guy on the planet to ask for advice from, I feel I still do a stand-up job.

Here are just a few of the conversations to date. (Please note names of the boy’s friends have been changed to those of famous people as not to identify anyone):

The Naked Lady

Boy: “Daddy…R. Kelly has a picture of a naked woman in his room.”

Me: “A naked woman? Really? Did you see it? Does she look good?”

Boy: “Yes I saw it.”

Me: “Well where does he keep it?”

Boy: “Behind a poster.”

Me: “Wow…well Grayson, you and R. Kelly are a bit too young to be looking at pictures like that and looking at women in that way.”

Boy: “I know daddy.”

Me: “If that happens again I want you to bring the picture to daddy immediately, OK?”

Boy: “I will daddy.”

She’s Mine…No She’s Mine!

Boy: “Daddy…Matt Damon and Ben Affleck fight every day on the playground over Fergie and I really don’t like it. They’re both in love with her.”

Me: “What do you mean ‘fight?’ Like throwing fists and hitting each other and stuff?”

Boy: “They grab each other and try to throw each other to the ground. Whoever hits the ground first loses.”

Me: “And then what, the winner scoops Fergie up and carries her off into the sunset?”

Boy: “No…the winner is Fergie’s boyfriend.”

Me: “Does Fergie know this?”

Boy: “No. But they fight all the time and are always telling her they love her and she keeps saying she doesn’t love either of them.”

Me: “Do you like Fergie?”

Boy: “Yes.”

Me: “Here’s what you do. Never tell her you love her because you don’t, you’re too young to even be talking about love. Treat her like you would any other of your friends. Go play with her, get to know her, and let her get to know you.”

Three Days Later…

Me: “So are Matt Damon and Ben Affleck still fighting over Fergie?

Boy: “Yes, but daddy…I ignore it and have been playing with Fergie and her friends for the past couple of days. And we’re friends and have made up a bunch of games together.”

Me: “Atta dude…”…and a manly man tear slides down my cheek.

F-You Daddy!!

Boy: “Daddy…I know how to stick up my middle finger.”

Me: “You what?!”

Boy: “Gary Busey taught me how to stick up my middle finger—see!”

Me: “Whoa…dude. Put that thing away. Do you know what that means?”

Boy: “No, but it’s such a huge finger and everyone laughs when I do it.”

Me: “You know the ‘f-word’ that you’ve talked about hearing before?”

Boy: “Yeah. Oh, daddy? That word is written on the table next to my keyboard in computer class.”

Me: “Wow…well, anyway, sticking your middle finger up is like saying the ‘f-word’ to someone. It’s not good Grayson. Don’t ever, EVER do that again. The school will send you home and mommy will cry.”

Boy: “She doesn’t cry when you do it.”

Me: “That’s different. When I do it to mommy it means ‘I love you.’”

Two seconds later the boy flipped me off and said “I love you daddy!” All I could do was give him a hug and say, “Grayson, don’t ever stick your middle finger up at me or anyone else again. And, I promise I won’t either… whenever you’re watching me.”