As my beard gets longer, it’s becoming clear that I have not one but four different colors in my scruff: black, brown, red, and white (thank you old age). In short — I’m a calico.


Danger Monkey, age 9: “You say a lot of things you don’t actually mean.”

Me: “It’s called sarcasm. Learn it now because our family lives on it.”

DM: “That doesn’t make sense. Also, can we pull over? I have to go really bad.”

Me: “We just left a restaurant! We have like 20 minutes until we get home.”

DM: “Crap.”

Me: “Not in my car you don’t. Also, don’t say crap.”

DM: “You say it a lot.”

Me: “Yes, but I’m 45 with a beard and a job.”

DM: “What does a beard have to do with it?”

Me: “Because I’m an authority figure.”

DM: “Sure you are.”


DM: “That was sarcasm.”

Me: “I know.”


Me: “I’m proud of you.”

DM: “I know.”