Speaking of fairies – Sarah is three years old, which means daddy gets to shop in the “pink aisle.” Normally I don’t mind our toy store outings because I can shop for Transformers (our basement is slowly succumbing to a plastic robot rash that threatens to cover every available surface). It becomes strange for me when Sarah expects me to get excited about shoes for her princesses or brushing purple pony hair. I humor her. I put on my cute (but manly) princess voice and answer her with woos and awwws. I help to braid Barbie hair, fill dainty cups with water for Giraffe’s tea party, and yes, I’ve even pretend-wiped Cabbage Patch ass that just went potty.
But just when I feel as though I’ve lost her (and myself) to glittery girldom, she goes and paints the scariest rendition of Tinkerbell I’ve ever seen. Can a horror dad be anything but proud?