Plausible Deniability

Old Wahoo likes to think he's an enlightened dad, a new age kind of father who drops his kids off at school, packs their lunch (every once in a while, anyways) and changes diapers. But let's face it: like any good man (or at least any successful college football coach or U.S. President), Old Wahoo operates under the guise of plausible deniability. I think I know and I should know and maybe I even do know, but no one really knows.

Sounds confusing, right? But it's perfect. If Mrs. Wahoo says she will donate toilet paper for the second-grade Halloween party, I nod my head yes and immediately file it in my mind's vertical file. But when Mrs. Wahoo comes down with a semi-deathly illness, then Old Wahoo actually has to act, which no one wants (least of all me). So now I have to buy toilet paper (so the kids can pretend to be mummies, wink, wink - like they're not T.P.'ing some teacher's lawn) and actually deliver it to school. Handling one of those tasks drains all of my resources, but both, that's tough.

With plausible deniability, I successfully can shrug off at least one of the tasks. Toilet paper? Sure, whatever you want. I'll just drop it off after you pick it up. And with laundry, plausible deniability becomes an even greater asset. Yes, I guess I did put the 2-year-old's pants in the second-grader's drawer, but, I mean, hey, I actually folded the laundry, didn't I? And I made an attempt to put it in the right place, right?

Anyway, there's only one thing that can save me: the quick return to health of Mrs. Wahoo.

Please get well soon.