Fathers are frequently under-appreciated hardworking, dishes-cleaning-up, bottle-getting, paycheck-bringing-home sports-watching, wife-angering confused-heads. Honestly, you could not pay me enough to swap my lady bits for a man package… no matter how privileged and easily orgasmed the lot of them are.
To be a man in this society means to be wrong most of the time, all the while carrying around the equipment and the gender of rightness. To have (on a good day) no clue what you did to deserve that particular look, or door slam, or low-level simmering resentment. If you are a man, to put it mildly, you’re in a bit of a pickle.
But let’s say you survived Mother’s Day relatively unscathed. You bought the spa certificate, the flowers, and watched the kids for the afternoon so she could get out. What are your hopes and dreams for Father’s Day? Maybe a nice sleep-in, a shag, a baseball game, or time to read a good book. Should you be a highly evolved sort, perhaps Father’s Day will involve a free morning for yoga, a kefir cleanse, or tantra.