Last Friday I had the pleasure of taking my littlest Princess to an enchanted land called Food City. It's a magical place, full of bananas, discount canned raviolis and disgruntled stock workers. It's also has a whole lot of customers unawares that a father can take his 2-year-old daughter shopping without anyone ending up dead or deported to Guam.
Now, I have been taking my spawn, and the one before her, shopping for groceries once a week going on seven years now. We enjoy our weekly treks, starting off by singing Mr. Blue Sky by ELO and ending with a nutritious meal of Chicken Nuggies sans sauce. Whether it be Kroger or Meyer or Walmart, we have braved them all. We're so confident of our shopping prowess, that we'll even go on a triple-coupon Thanksgiving Wednesday before a snowstorm.
And being a studly man carting off a much smaller human, I've been treated differently than female caregivers. Story time at the library usually has me sitting a table all alone, with the other mothers avoiding eye contact while keeping a hand on their rape whistle. Waitresses at the fine establishment, Bob Evans, have pulled me aside to explain how the children's menu worked. And there's been more than six times I had to change a poop on the bathroom floor because the changing table only resides in the women's room -- and these are poops I didn't even make.
The trip to Food City last Friday brought the term "Daddy's Day Out" to a whole new level. The moment we left the car, I was greeted by:
Jack Grubb writes an incredible blog, Losing the Internets, which is read by at least 37 people and over 2,100 Russian SPAM bots. In his spare time he helps small companies find their marketing voice. Jack currently lives deliberately in Appalachia, Kentucky with his wife, two daughters, Jack Russell and a Lego collection beyond compare.