There are perks to being a girl dad.
There are perks to being a dad in general.
But with perks… come penalties.
And sometimes those penalties leave emotional scars.
Deep ones.
The kind that resurface… every time you drive past a drive-thru.
For most of my life, I believed chicken nuggets and chicken tenders were basically the same thing.
Interchangeable.
Different shape… same chicken.
I was wrong.
Violently wrong.
I have two daughters.
Kate is a tender person.
Charlotte? Nugget loyalist. Ride or die.
These are not suggestions.
These are rules.
Break them… and there will be consequences.
One day I was out, in a hurry, minding my business, when Charlotte tracked me like I was on parole.
“Hey… you’re near Chick-fil-A. Can you bring me something?”
(Also—she calls it Jesus Chicken, which feels both accurate and slightly disrespectful.)
And I… a man who once thought he understood the world…
brought her tenders.
Tenders.
For a nugget girl.
I did that once.
JUST. ONCE.
The look I got…
I’ve seen calmer reactions in hostage negotiations.
I slept with one eye open for a week.
Not saying she would do anything…
…but I’m also not saying she wouldn’t.
Now, Charlotte is a loving, caring, thoughtful human being.
Truly.
But she has two defining traits:
- She remembers everything.
- She believes in delayed justice.
She doesn’t get mad.
She logs it.
And when the time is right…
she deploys emotional hand grenades.
Then came the latest development.
The rules… evolved.
After a long week at school, Charlotte got promoted in JROTC.
And listen—
THREE CHEERS FOR CHARLOTTE.
I was proud. We were all proud.
But with great achievement…
comes great restriction.
She went to the store and got herself Double-Stuf Oreos.
These were not snacks.
These were Promotion Oreos.
They were labeled.
Declared.
Protected under what I assume is some kind of Geneva Convention.
Off limits.
Completely.
I asked—very reasonably—
“What if it’s 2 AM… I’m up… looking for a little something-something… I have one… and I replace them?”
Without hesitation:
“NO.”
Not “no thanks.”
Not “please don’t.”
Just… NO.
Now—moment of brutal honesty—
I am a grown-ass man.
But I am…
slightly afraid of Charlotte.
Sweet.
Kind.
Delicate flower.
One might say … demure.
With a fully operational dark side.
So I respected the rules.
I honored the Promotion Oreos.
And in return…
She has left alone my open pack of Dr Pepper Peeps.
No questions asked.
No judgment given.
Peace… has been achieved.
Peep Jerky on the way.
IYKYK.
My Take on Life and Events 