In Rainbows

We're in some store and I pick up a greeting card with this picture of a baby taking a bath in a sink full of dirty dishes. Inside it reads, "Why dads shouldn't babysit."

Now, I'm not into the whole militant reaction to stuff like that. Why not wage a war against lawyer-joke e-mail forwards or sexist beer koozies? Who am I to deny some erstwhile Donna Reed a chuckle at the expense of her philistine of a husband who kept her in the kitchen all those years while he sunk deeper into the ass groove of his barcalounger? I don't lecture women who say, "Oh, dad's babysitting today!" when I'm out with the kid(s). I figure this says a lot more about them and the men in their lives than it does about me. Why be an asshole?

I've known for some time that when some women see my daughter, they think she belongs on a greeting card that says, "Why dads shouldn't dress the kids." To be fair, most of the time when I see their kids I think they belong on a greeting card that says, "Why people shouldn't shop at the Carter's Outlet." But I've found myself a bit more defensive since Juniper started to put together her own outfits from the thrift store wardrobe I've built so carefully.

The other day on the riverfront, a woman said to Juniper, "Oh how cute, did daddy dress you today?" I felt the need to interject on behalf of my fellow fathers:

"No way, lady. Today daddy let her dress herself like a freak."