Today, in two short hours, I got a scary glimpse at my future in about 12 years or so.See, around that time my youngest little maniac will more than likely be entering the dating world. Hopefully he'll have conquered that whole peeing thing by then, but I digress; he'll be driving a car, thinking he's the best thing since powdered donuts, and spinning his particular brand of shucking and jiving on any poor girl who agrees to go out with him.
We got a sneak preview of this at his "friend" Victoria, or Toria as Trot likes to call her, birthday party today. Seems like my little Romeo has got some moves already; went and got her food, her cake, her punch AND her gifts for her, repeatedly asked Toria if she needed anything else, helped open her presents, and did, and I quote, "A Reverse Cannonball 360 with a front flip" off the diving board.
He's already got a pet name, has his "Perfect Gentleman" act down cold, and is willing to do stupid, dangerous tricks off a board into 10 feet of water to try and get the attention of the fairer sex.
And he's the ripe old age of 5.
So not only do I have ahead of me Ciera dating, going off to school, and taking years off my life in the process, Rakes hitting puberty bearing the same "little man" curse that infected his Dad (hopefully without his Mel Tillis impersonation; thankfully, it get's better by the day, unless he's talking) I've got the distinct possibility Trot will be some deranged combination of Eddie Haskell/Johnny Knoxville/Don Juan by the time he's 16.
I don't who to feel sorrier for.
Me.
Or the poor father of the girl he asks out for the first time.
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