Sometimes, being a dude blogger in a field women rule is no big deal.
We’re all parents. Dads and moms. And when I’m out and about dropping comments, it rarely comes up. But once in a while, I’ll find a new blog. Maybe it’s through a linkup. Or a Google-plus post. So I click the link.
And find something foreign.
Not a blog in French, although I’ve found those too. No, sometimes, it’s a blog about something like … fashion. Complete with a brief description of tunics and accessories and maybe a wedge or something, which I think is a type of women’s shoe.
Ponies. Clowns. Singing mice. That used to be enough. Now, we rent out restaurants. Create horse-riding adventures. Rent bounce houses and cotton-candy machines and maybe even boy bands.
Every year becomes a practice in topping what we did last year. Or what the last kid did.
You served hot dogs and had Lady Gaga sing for your kid’s party? Well, we’ll get Ke$ha and serve pizza. Deep.dish. The Party of the Year can have a few gems on the editing room floor. Some doozies on the “not quite list.”