Hell, that’s the basis of Go Ask Daddy on Fridays. They don’t stop asking, even after 357 questions. Who are the people made of clay? Why is TV on a delay for NFL games? Are you going to sit in a racecar for your haircut, daddy?
(Very funny, kid.)
The answers and discussions flow painlessly. (Greek and Sumerian mythology refers to clay people. Islam mentions them, too. A 7-second delay keeps F-bombs off NFL broadcasts. And no, I didn’t sit in a racecar. I didn’t need a booster seat, either.)
Sometimes, I have to call off the dogs with these girls.
Remind Elise that her strikes on goal are a threat to girls’ dentition at times. Stress to Marie that it’s OK to show a little mercy. In practice. Peel Grace off a boy she’s face-planted into the carpet who can’t move his lips to say uncle.
I once had to go to work after a wrestle session with a littler Elise and Marie that got a bit spirited, and left me with a swollen face and minor bleeding of the mouth. It wasn’t always this way, though.