Father-Daughter Bond

There are certain mornings when I get out of the shower that I can tell things just aren't quite right south of the belt-line. Sometimes my dangly parts have an unusual amount of friction, or perhaps a tackiness that time has taught me will lead to chaffing in a matter of hours. My job requires me to be on my feet for hours on end, roaming the dining room and observing the staff and the patrons to ensure things are running smoothly. This is hard to do with sandpaper between your legs, and so in a preemptive strike, I reach for my tried and trusted friend... Gold Bond Medicated Powder.

I keep it safe from toddlers high above my toilet on a window sill. I usually apply it while sitting on the aforementioned toilet so that the residue can be neatly flushed away, instead of falling into the carpet for all eternity. If you have never used Gold Bond, I urge you to do so. It's a sensation unlike any other... like stuffing a York Peppermint Patty where the sun don't shine, like a fresh arctic breeze cooling your nether regions. Refreshing, indeed.

So the other day after taking down the Christmas lights from the roof, I was struck with the urge to go potty. As is often the case in my house, I was not left alone to enjoy a moment of solitude, no. I was accompanied by a red-headed, inquisitive little girl who wanted to know just what I was doing. So I told her. "I'm pooping in the potty like a big boy." "Oh. OK." Then she ran off. Peace at last, I was left alone to finish my paperwork. Merely seconds later, she reappeared presenting me with the familiar yellow bottle with the red cap containing the powder of the Gods. "Here, daddy," she said, smiling and batting those big brown eyes at me. She knows me well, I thought, and I love her even more than I could ever imagine for that.