Its taste, however, is a far and pale second to granddaughter types racing around with flaming hunks of marshmellows on sharp sticks and giggling and screeching their delight.
Of course there was the dropped glob on the deck which will never ever ever come clean and the one set of slight burnt lips and an owwwieee finger. Don't you see though? That's what a S more is. It isn't digested. It never hits your tongue. It is all in the eyes, watching this, these kids, fireballs and spears, wanting them to have endless fun and be happy every waking second and that is the present. That is father's day. Happy kids.
My daughter has another on the way. Her first was perfection. My son has two. One is the proverbial Einstein and the other a female daredevil worthy of the Sir Edmund Hillary prize. Geeze. And my kids ask me what I would like for father's day? ohhhh let me think.