Well, at least an idea I had for a post today.

Gnat ate all her chicken, and inquired: “what’s for dessert, father?” (I love that. Sometimes she calls me “Papa,” which makes me feel like Kindly Gepetto; when she calls me “Father” I feel like a Victorian patriarch.)
As I was going to write, I want my kids to grow up with English accents and call me "father". I'm not sure how I'm going to work it yet... I could marry an English girl with good teeth, or I could just hire an English nanny maybe.



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