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All over the country, dads in torn “#1 Master-Baster” grilling aprons and knee-high black socks down around their ankles, are crawling through the wreckage of another Father’s Day gone by. Faces stained with barbecue sauce. Knees covered in grass stains from ill-advised touch football games with their kids’ high school friends. Pockets bulging with…Alka-Seltzer, Zantac and pain reliever.

While all you dads collapse into your recliners – look out, Maizy, the half-dead dog! – this is a good time to reflect on those little regrets. Sure, you’re all great guys. There’s a whole day dedicated to you, for crying out loud. Still, you could stand some improvement – and we don’t just mean your waistline (though cutting yourself off at a baker’s dozen Italian sausages wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world).

Having trouble thinking of anything? Here, hold my bag of Doritos and jar of peanut butter and I’ll start:

I’m sorry beer bottles don’t make better croquet wickets.

I’m sorry for my Father’s Day movie pick. On the other hand, the kids are pretty young. And it’s summer. Plenty of time to make up the sleep they missed Sunday night.

I’m sorry for the card I picked out for your dad. I think the fart jokes of 18th century Russian poets are a lot funnier than 21st century fart jokes. Sue me.

I’m sorry I wanted to spend the afternoon reading a book. Forgive me for wanting to expand my mind. And “Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue” is, technically, a book.

I’m sorry I called your mom “Dad”.  In my defense…I couldn’t actually remember her name.

I’m sorry dinner took so long. I know it was my idea to grill. I thought you’d like grilled ketchup.

Okay, fine, there were supposed to be burgers to go with the ketchup.

Good news is Maizy loved them.

And she’ll probably recover.

I’m sorry I already spent the gift card. A closet full of gumballs has always been my dream. In hindsight, I probably should have told you before you went to put the coats away.

I’m sorry Father’s Day comes just once a year. There’s only so many empty calories you can pack into one day.

I’m sorry I ate the last Oreo. Wait, no I’m not. It’s my day.

So really the moral of Father’s Day is not to atone for regrets. The moral is:

“Because I’m the dad. That’s why.”

(As long as Mom says it’s okay.)


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