My girls really tick me off.
Go Ask Daddy has been a fixture around here for decades, it seems. Only, now, my girls, all post-millennial, they of the vines and musical groups without all the letters in their names (like Weeknd), well, they suddenly want a payday for their “intellectual property.”
Much to my shock and chagrin, this might be the last installment of Go Ask Daddy.
My girls demand $1 per question asked here. Any post that 50% subject matter for any individual, combination of two or all three daughters, real or imagined, will require compensation, commiserate to word count. It’d dumb and it’s complicated. I’m appalled.
I didn’t raise these girls to become money-grubbing scoundrels.
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1. Do you think I’ll have to get braces?
Soon as your baby teeth all fall out, we can talk braces.
Soon. I needed a retainer for a few months. Elise wore braces for what seemed forever. Soon as your baby teeth all fall out, we can talk braces. You know, that dentist shouldn’t have asked you if you were saving for braces already. Grownups say dumb things.
Your smile, just the way it is, lights up my day, love.
2. Do contestants on Jeopardy get to keep their money if they don’t win?
They once did, and then they didn’t. Now, they get a set dollar amount.
Players on Jeopardy used to pocket the cash figure they wound up with at the end of the game. However, producers felt contestants who didn’t have a shot at winning would stroke the rest of the game and head home with a bit of bankroll.
Jeopardy second- and third-place winners from 1984 to 2002 took home trips and prizes.
Since 2002, placing second on the game show will net you $2,000. Dead last ain’t bad: That’s a cool $1,000. That should cover travel, lodging and Turd Ferguson shirts, none of which Jeopardy will pick up the bill for.
3. Do they call this just checkers in China?
Chinese Checkers isn’t Chinese. It isn’t even checkers.
In China, they call it 他们到底是什么
Chinese Checkers isn’t Chinese. It isn’t really even checkers. It’s a game two to four people play with marbles on a star-shaped board with six points. It’s a blast. You get your 10 warriors into the opponents’ home triangle first, with moves and leaps, to win.
“Let’s play German Marbles” doesn’t allure quite as much as “Let’s play Chinese Checkers.” Chinese Checkers feels … exotic. German Marbles feels … like what Adolf Hitler lost.
4. Why do princesses talk to animals?
Probably not for answers on Jeopardy (woodland creatures can’t formulate answers as questions to save their pelts.)
Animals have the capacity to listen and maintain eye contact far greater than that of even a prince. And they don’t give advice or ask for a sandwich. Plus, animals who do things for you like tie ribbons and nuzzle up to your kneecaps? That’s gold for little kids. Gold.
And the marketing … you can sell stuffed rabbits and deer and wolverines with doe eyes by the droves. Princesses (and those who pay the people to draw them) know what’s up.
5. Do college kids have a bedtime?
It’s been a … few years since my college days.
Honey, going to bed wasn’t the biggest problem I faced as a college kid.
Getting up? That was a different story.
It’s been a … few years since my college days. And yet today, I woke up at 6:15 … 7:15 … and 8:15. I’m due in a 9 a.m. writing seminar. It’s 8:22. I haven’t done any of these:
- Copied this point into WordPress
- Chosen a stormtrooper photo for it
- Selected a quote for the end
- Added a link or any kind of markup HTML
*That one made my heart palpitate.
I took to Facebook to see if friends there could offer any insight. Back in my day, I couldn’t ask Siri or Santaria or Quintapolis or whoeverthehell you ask on your smartphones today to do shit that we had to do with our bare hands.
(This question came as a litany of beautiful inquiries Grace made as we ate dinner in a dining Hall at Wake Forest. Incidentally, she’s set on that school as hers already, at age 11. Must have been some good pizza.)
But I digress.
Classes the next day at 8 a.m. warrant some sort of bedtime the night before.
Rafe, my buddy from a music camp (I was a counselor, not a musician then), said: “I wish there was, ‘cause maybe then I’d actually get some sleep.” My friend Lacey concurred – we grownups could use someone to impose bedtime on our wishy-washy asses.
Classes the next day at 8 a.m. warrant some sort of bedtime the night before. Cathy said her son doesn’t have a bedtime. It’s part of the freedom to sink or swim, I suppose. My wonderful former boss from Muzak, Alexa, just offered a rolling lololol!
That says it all. College kids have always been tough to corral (or keep clean and upright.) I can only imagine what it’s like for Generation Y.
Anyway, I’m a grown-ass man who stayed up way too late trying to finish this post. Now, I’m a grown-ass man who will have to take a turbo shower and get his grown ass to that seminar without being late. Oh! And grab an Egg McMuffin, too.
I hope when you get to Wake Forest, sweet girl, that your braces are long gone off, you’ve had at least one conversation (probably with you singing) with a squirrel, and that you can always count on me for a wakeup call at Wake Forest.
I’ll make sure Cortana or Cordellia or Cortez or whoever’s in my phone doesn’t let me let you down!