I Don't Belong Here.

A dad brought his wife and adult daughters into the bar tonight, and before they closed out their tab, he called me over.

“Give me one of those head socks, will you?” He pointed to the beanie on the wall.

I understood what he meant, but his daughters were mortified. “Dad, you’ve got to stop calling them that. They’re beanies or knit hats,” one said. She turned to me and apologized. “He’s been calling them that our entire lives. It’s so embarrassing.”

I told them I thought it was fantastic that his kids grew up thinking that was the name for a winter hat. I said I have a nine month old son and I’m so drunk with power over the fact I get to manipulate his vocabulary. “I’ve thought about just naming a couple of everyday items really weird things so that when they’re older they’ll call them something and their friends will be like WHAT?”

The daughter then told a story about how when they were growing up, they’d store their kielbasa in the freezer, and when they had it for dinner, they’d call it FP. What’s for dinner? FP. 

FP, of course, stood for frozen penis, so when the girls would go to friends’ houses for dinner, they’d be like “oh we’re having FP, fantastic!”