Last night, Lilly so subtly said to me, “so we’re just stuck with you for one more day, right Daddy?” Ouch. That hurt.

MRS is out of town and obviously Lilly hasn’t read the chapter in the Daddy’s Little Girl Handbook explaining how I’m supposed to be the center of her universe. Despite her apparent weariness with me, we’ve actually had a very smooth time these last few days. But obviously, irrespective of the fun we’ve had, my precocious little 5-year-old is finding her dear old dad tiresome. Perhaps it’s her new found sophistication acquired since starting kindergarten. Perhaps it’s her increasing expressions of boredom that arise during any idle moments. Perhaps she’s anticipating me showing up to some future event wearing shorts, dress socks and sandals and she’s decided to get me used to being snubbed.

Whatever the reason, MRS has taken a three length lead in the McDad-house popularity horse race. The good news for me is that we’re just a few furlongs out of the gate. I have plenty of time to gain ground and I always suffer from slow starts. That being said, MRS is splattering my face with dirt as she sprints ahead.

Even my little Lulu—freshly turned 3 and deliverer of the best damn daddy hugs in the world—has been shunning me in favor of MRS in recent weeks. It’s bullshit. She and I are simpatico and she should at least have me even with MRS—really I should be Lulu’s clear cut favorite, but I’m not bitter.

At least Lola still favors me over the whole lot of them. Man’s best friend, indeed. I know my future very clearly and my future is as follows. My home will be overrun with three hormonally charged, menstru-exploding female-types and I will be cowering in my office with either Lola or my new dog (this scenario takes place in ten years or so, I don’t know if Lola will last that long). I’ll be 52 and MRS will be 49 and surely my sex-life will be even sadder than it is today. The girls will be far too cool to want to be seen in public with me. I will be inundated with more peace and quiet than I’ll know what to do with. Peace and quiet that I’d kill for today will most likely depress me in ten years.

I have no witty tie-up for the pathetic vent. I just feel the need to warn the McDad women that if I don’t become someone’s favorite soon I’m taking Lola and getting a bachelor pad. I put up with far too much drama, emotion, princess crap, PMS, and general female issues to be subjugated to second class citizenship. I have rights dammit! I will be someone’s favorite or else!

Is anyone listening to me?

Crap.