Better than revenge

Jeff is a lot like my dad. They're both the kind of dad to drop you off at school with the windows down and the greatest hits of the 80's blaring. They're both the kind of dad to chase you down the driveway yelling "make good choices" and "daddy wubs you" as you head for the bus. They're both the kind of dad who fart in the exam room at the hospital and leave right before the doctor walks in. My kids, like me, will suffer years of torture and embarrassment just so they're dad can get a giggle. When I packed up and moved out and finally got married, I'd never thought I'd have to worry about someone doing the "cabbage patch" dance in front of my friends ever again.
I hate to admit that sometimes I even get pleasure from Jeff's little game. It was funny for me, too. I've had a hard time keeping a straight face when checking my daughter out of school wearing the exact same shirt as her. I giggled too, until a few days ago. Jeff drove me up to the front door of Fred Meyer, so I could hop out and run into the ATM. He rolls down the window and says "Don't forget to get a box of Ex-Lax to help take care of that nasty little problem of yours sweetie." I turned around and gave him the best evil eye I could muster up. I was kind of pissed, but only for a minute. A very attractive male walked up beside me and said "Yeah, my DAD still tries to embarrass me too."