People are always saying this about their children. However, it’s very sad to me. Usually, people say this when they haven’t seen your kids in awhile because of the lapse in time periods makes it seem as if the child is growing at an alarming rate. It’s even worse if a parent says this about their own kids. It makes me think that you are not paying attention to your kid. Unless you are injecting your kids with HGH or they have a pituitary gland disorder then your kids are probably growing at a normal pace for a human. Or maybe it’s just a figure of speech, who knows!
If you are married then stop calling it a date night. You are no longer dating, you are now married. Unless you are committing adultery or eating a bunch of phoenix dactylifera then it’s just a night out with your wife, husband, wifband, husbife, or whatever our country had defined two wedded partners to be.
Also, stop calling it babysitting your kids when your wife has a “girls night out”. Also, they are women, not girls. At least call it Ladies Night so you can get the Kool and the Gang song stuck in your head.
If you are not familiar with the appeal to emotion logical fallacy it’s simply the technique of manipulating someones emotions to win an argument depite the facts. There is a new logical fallacy that is gaining in popularity. While it’s very similar to the Appeal to Emotion it has it subtle differences. For example.
“I’ve got kids that come in this store.” could be deployed when a retailer is featuring some rather grotestque holiday decorations.
“My kids use this playground.” could be excreted when you notice a dog owner leaving a huge steaming pile of feces on the merry go round.
“My kids are trying to sleep.” can be shouted over blaring vulgur hip hop music as the neighbors are hooting and hollaring outside your sleeping childs window.
This argument works better if the person has children. They can relate and they do not want any backlash in the future.
Spiders are about the only thing that really creep me out. I guess it has something to do with eight independently moving legs. Growing up I was tossing a towel into the hamper and noticed something squirming in the background. After closer inspection I uncovered a nightmare nest of a mother and about five million babies spiders that were alive and kicking.
There was only one way to dispose of this horrid web of terror and I knew the perfect weapon. Since my sister was in the habit of teasing her hair to it’s length to create an afro of curly stickiness, I grabbed a can of Aqua Net. I then located one of the numberous lighters that ignited Dad’s lung candy. I was fortunate enough not to burn our home down, but I gave them a hurricane of flame broiling that turned them into the crispiest of critters. The cremation ceremony was finalized with a quick flush of the deceased. My family was now safe from a pending arachnid avalanche for whoever emptied the hamper.
Where do you really call Home? Is it the place you were born or the place where you’ve lived the longest? Is it the place where all of your stuff is? I would say it’s where you want it to be. I mean, my kids were both born in Tennessee, but they are really from South Carolina. Even though my son wears Mountaineer gear and my daughter wants to constantly visit Gatlinburg. But just remember nobody wants a backstory. They just want to know where you currently live because they want to judge your accent and speech patterns.
When I tell people I’m from West Virginia I usually hear. “Oh what part? I love Roanoke and the Shenandoah Valley!” I have to say. “You know West Virginia is a whole separate state right?” It’s like having to explain to someone. “I’m from South Carolina” and hearing. “Oh, I just love the Charlotte area!”
When I travel up North I hear, “You don’t sound like you are from South Carolina”. Yeah, I know! I’ve picked up a hybrid accent from West Virginia, Alabama, Tennessee, and the Carolina’s. I do my best to enunciate and speak clearly, but once I’m tired I’m not sure which dialect will surface. Sorry for the backstory.
I don’t puke that easily, so cleaning up my kids vomit is not an issue. It’s weird, it’s like God gives you an anti-upchuck receptors for you own children.
However, once I smell my own own stomach contents the upchuck flows effortlessly. While I’m down there commode hugging, if I haven’t cleaned the toilet recently, it moves matters forward as well. The worst case is when I was staying with my Granny in Nitro when I was about 10 years old. I was sleeping on a cot in the dining room and woke up hollering vomit into my pillow and it splashing all over my face and overflowing into the floor. It just kept flowing and woke everyone up in the house. It had to be the butter flavored Crisco popcorn and Cool Ranch Doritos having an argument on who gets the last bite of overcooked fried chicken.