The big news in my Casa de Joy is the forthcoming arrival of two next-generation Guncranks. Both of my offspring have fired up the mini-me generators and are expecting pocket people — within two days of each other. The expected arrival dates are so close I have to think planning was involved, but as a dad, I really, really don’t want to know anything about that.
With both “he” and “she” Guncranks on the way, I’ve been kicked out of the house twice recently, apparently for some social events called “Baby Showers.”
Being an attentive husband, I tried to help out with planning of the social activities, even to the point of offering to open up my reloading room to the guests, provided, of course, they bring their own primers. Alas, my generosity not only fell on deaf ears — it was outright rejected. It hurts when your own family gives you one of those pity laughs normally reserved for a super-awkward wedding toast about that time when the bride… well, you get the idea.
Anyway, I love and treasure the women in my family, but I’ll also say they tend to overcomplicate things on occasion. Before I was booted out the door minutes before guests were to arrive, I spotted glittery signs, Instagram photo booths, punchbowls with sorbet icebergs, and unless I was seeing things, a couple of unemployed wedding planners.