Father’s Day

Are there minimum requirements for this holiday?

“Why didn’t you wish me a Happy Father’s Day?” Hubby pouted.

It was Father’s Day morning, and we were following our usual Sunday routine: Breakfast and coffee while we watched Looney Tunes in our pajamas, with our pug Oscar nestled on the couch alongside us.

“Um, excuse me?” I made out between chomps of my peanut butter toast.

On the TV screen, Speedy Gonzales and his mousey friends danced circles around Daffy Duck‘s feet.

“You didn’t wish me a Happy Father’s Day today,” he said.

“You don’t get to celebrate Father’s Day just because you’re a boy, silly. You have to be a dad also.”

I slurped my coffee pointedly.

“Well, I’m Oscar’s dad,” he said, sticking his tongue out.

We both laughed, and our merry little pug snorted and snuggled into Hubby’s arms delightedly. If our real kids turn out to be half as spoiled as our dog, we’re in trouble. I rubbed Oscar’s belly and gave Hubby a squeeze.

“Happy Father’s Day, you goofs.”

Article © 2010 by Molly E. Weeks