It’s Hump Day, and I figured what better way to celebrate than to allow Barmy from I’ve Become My Parents to work the stage, while I sit back, relax and enjoy the show.
Actually, since I’m juggling two jobs right now I needed a reprieve but didn’t want to leave you all panting for posts, so this kickass blogger was awesome enough to volunteer his virtual goodies.
Barmy is 40-something, likes lederhosen, blogs about all the things his son needs to know to prevent himself from growing up to be just like his father, and has enough self-control to do so anonymously to protect his child. I admire him immensely for that.
I also admire his amazeballs sense of humor.
Though he’s not a single mom and he doesn’t own a vagina, Barmy’s epicly embarrassing dating tale won him the right to shake what his parents gave him in this guest post.
Check out his bacontastic artwork and tale of dating woe below to fall in like with him….
The First Kiss That Wasn’t
Son, we have established that if you grow up to be like me, you’ll never actually ask anyone out in high school. The bummer, of course, is that your lack of any real experience won’t exactly build your male confidence over time. The result will be both a growing desire to seek a girlfriend and a paralyzing fear of actually finding one.
This is the part where you’re probably looking for some fatherly advice on girls and here’s what I have to say about that: I have none. In fact, if you’ve been paying any attention at all so far that shouldn’t be a surprise.
In the absence of actual advice, I’ve been trying to think of what I could say to help you avoid being like I was when you’re in high school—what approach I should take to try and protect you from the traps that I fell into as a kid. But I think this one’s too big for just some loving advice and suggestions anyway. This one calls for more of a “Scared Straight” approach. And I can think of nothing more likely to scare the heck out of you than a good, close look at me.
So let’s put you in my shoes for one night in junior year of high school:
You’re out with the girl you actually wish was your girlfriend, her boyfriend and a few others. You and your friends stop to pick up a girl you’ve never met. While at her house, she starts to talk about a date she recently had with some guy. She’s not going out with him again, she says. It turns out that he’s a sloppy kisser–all wet, too much tongue, or not the right tongue action—too up and down instead of side-to-side or something. She rips on this guy like he should never have been allowed to possess a Y chromosome in the first place. Whoever this guy is, you’re glad it’s not you getting verbally castrated in front of everyone.