Shhh! Don’t Tell ’em About the Grilled Cheese.

As I’m flipping the grilled cheese sandwiches over with my bare hands, I wonder what my daughter would say if she saw me. She did assign Captain Safety to watch me.

“Your Dad wasn’t watching me, so I can do this!” I think to myself and laugh aloud with glee. “Bwahahaaaa!”  (I’m not making that up. I really did.) I mean, okay. I’ll give you that sometimes he’s got some good points. Maybe it’s not the best idea to scratch my back with the scissors–they’re closed and everything, but still–and sure, it wasn’t my proudest moment when he pointed out reservations about my move to squirt water at a cat standing in front of the DVR, although that really shouldn’t count because I wasn’t close enough to get electrocuted.

But hey. I can take constructive feedback.

Sometimes, I just don’t want to have to think about it, though. I am in the moment and my brain is firing off whatever it’s firing off, I am engaged and absorbed in my thoughts and I simply don’t want to interrupt the flow of eccentric genius to stop to ask myself, “Is there any possible way this could hurt me?”

Fortunately, I have a volunteer for that. And he’s damned good at it, too.

But I am not going to say anything about the grilled cheese incident, anyway. Nobody squeal, okay? Or no doubt about it, Captain Safety would start following me around the house…

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