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“Why can’twe just keep Maxine since she’s been here so much anyway, and she loves us like we’re her own family? Right, Daddy?”
This kid, man.
If Gracie weren’t completely attached to this animal, I swear I’d give the Langleys a piece of my fucking mind. They’d been pawning this pig off on me for weeks now. First, it was a vacation. Now, Joe Langley was having some medical issues, and his wife, Martha, had come in crying yesterday, asking if I could keep Maxine for a few weeks.
Again.
I had this goddamn pig at my house more than they did because they had constant ailments.
Cry me a fucking river.
Why in the world an elderly couple decided to take on a seventy-pound pig as a house pet was beyond me.
But, of course, Martha following me around my veterinary office crying was not good for business, so I’d agreed to take Maxine for a few more weeks.
And my kid… my adorably big-hearted, cute-as-a-fucking-button-with-a-heart-of-gold little girl was in love with the little porker.
“Well, adopting a pig, one who lives in the home, is a big responsibility. We didn’t sign up for that, the Langleys did. We are just helping them out right now.”
Parenting meant that I had to take the high road more often than I would normally prefer.
“But we signed up for Bob Picklepants to live with us, didn’t we?”
Bob mother fucking Picklepants.
How the hell I got talked into naming my dog that ridiculous name is still beyond me.
I swear this little girl was my kryptonite. Her chocolate-brown eyes and long curls bouncing around her, made her impossible to say no to.
And I’d never had a problem saying no to people.
I didn’t wrestle with guilt or an overabundance of empathy. If I didn’t want to do something, I didn’t fucking do it.
Unless Gracie was involved.
“Correct. We did agree to make Bob part of the family.” I set her plate down, and she smiled and rubbed her hands together when she looked at the spaghetti and garlic bread on her plate. I was happy to see that she’d finished the carrots and snap peas I’d given her while I was cooking.
I was that guy now… I got excited when my kid ate her vegetables.
I was living with an asthmatic mutt named Bob Picklepants, who snored so loud he woke me up most nights, a horny pig named Maxine, who humped my leg every chance she got, and the world’s cutest kindergartener on the planet.
“I think Bob Picklepants really loves Maxine, Daddy.”
Bob Picklepants did not give two shits about Maxine. My daughter was just a perpetually glass-half-full type of kid. Bob barely acknowledged Maxine’s presence because he was a lazy bastard who only cared about belly rubs and dog treats. Gracie thought they were playing some kind of game when he ignored our unwanted houseguest.
They weren’t playing a game, and my household was a real shit show lately. But Gracie thrived in the madness, so what the fuck did that say about my parenting style?
Bob wheezed from the couch, where he lay on his back because the dude was a pampered prince. Maxine was napping in her playpen, and I was grateful for the peaceful dinner with my daughter.
Gracie swirled her noodles around the fork and popped them into her mouth.
“Mmmm, you are the best cooker, Daddy. Piper said she loves to eat at our house.”
Piper was Gracie’s best friend, and her parents, Colton and Farah, were friends of mine. I happened to know for a fact that Farah prepared three-course meals for her family most nights because Colton mentioned it often. But apparently, five-year-old kids didn’t care for things like baby hens and chicken dijon.
They wanted plain ole spaghetti and tacos and grilled cheese, which was easy enough for me to pull off.
“How was school today? Did you have your spelling test?”
