When two males who are otherwise friendly with each other get into a fight, there’s usually only one cause: a woman.
Last night we were all sharing a comfy Kodak moment as we prepared for Will’s bedtime. The three of us were in our bed, watching Glee (shut up, it’s a good show) and I was simply admiring what a fantastic family I have as we all cuddled up together in the bed. It was at that moment I took my wife’s hand and gave it a kiss, that all hell broke loose.
Will saw me kiss her hand and he reacted like a rabid wolverine. He lunged at me screaming “NOOOOO!” and he pushed my hand away from her. I was taken aback but he went right back to smiling, so I thought it was cute. I went to hold MJ’s hand again and he did the same thing.
Now I was intrigued.
So I let Will play down at the foot of the bed and then I scooted over next to my wife, threw my arms around her and started kissing her.
That kid bullrushed me like a maniac. Eyes wide, body tensed like A-Rod on a roid rage, he flew at me with reckless abandon and started shrieking “NO DADDA! MY MAMA! MY MAMA!!!” while desperately attempting to pry my hands off of my wife. Honest to God, it was like a scene from an insane asylum when one of the patients goes off his medications. The kid just snapped.
At first I was surprised and concerned for my son. He seemed genuinely upset, so I moved aside and let him sit in between us. But then I began wondering if it was wise to just appease him like that.
And that’s when it happened.
That little 3-foot-tall manipulative whirlwind of blonde locks and cuteness looked at me, smiled, and then put both of his hands squarely on my wife’s boobs.
Oh hell no!
I grabbed his hands and told him not to touch mommy there. He shook loose of my grip, looked me dead in the eyes and emphatically put both of his hands right back on MJ’s chest. I repeated my warning and took his hands off again. This time he squealed and went into the alligator death roll. But when he sat back up, he tried it again. That’s when I lost it and some neanderthal segment of my DNA kicked into full gear.
So I put my hands on my wife’s boobs and said “Hey, you see these? These are daddy’s boobs, not Will’s boobs! You had those boobs all to yourself for four whole months, and now they’re mine!” Now the kid was desperate to lay claim on my wife and he was desperately trying to wedge himself between me and MJ. At that point (with all semblance of maturity out the window) I proceeded to display my ownership of said breasts by motorboating the hell out of them.
This sent Will into a tailspin and he was actively swinging at me with the Devil in his eyes. And for the next 30 seconds or so, there was a life or death battle between father and son over who had rightful ownership of MJ’s chesticles.
Finally my wife freed herself from the testosterone-fueled struggle and got up from the bed.
“If the two of you are going to fight like this then I’m going to watch TV on the couch,” she said in disgust.
Will and I stopped our bickering and looked at her. Then we looked at each other as she walked out of the room in a huff. And just like that, without uttering a sound, I laid back down on my side of the bed and Will reclined against the headboard with his sippy cup, and we both watched TV together in stalemated silence.
Ah women, the age old cause of many a skirmish between otherwise rational men. Although this battle is complete, the war will continue to rage on.
As if I didn’t have enough trouble getting laid already!